


All Roads Lead To Here

by hapakitsune



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Coming of Age, M/M, Non-Famous Louis, quarter life crisis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-06-01 08:33:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 45,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6510700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hapakitsune/pseuds/hapakitsune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis hasn't seen Nick since he abruptly left his work experience job at Radio 1, but the moment he runs into Nick at a restaurant in London, he finds himself pulled back into Nick's world—the world he once desperately wanted to be a part of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Roads Lead To Here

**Author's Note:**

> Hey-o, happy big bang! I guess participating in a big bang completely takes away any plausible deniability I have about being in this fandom, huh? This fic is very very loosely inspired by Shelter, which if you know me you know is one of my favorite movies ever and I never shut up about it. 
> 
> Many many thanks to the small horde of people who I bombarded with snippets, thoughts, questions, etc, in particular: my sterling beta and boo formerlydf, and my britpick duckgirlie. Any remaining mistakes are most thoroughly my own. 
> 
> My wonderful mixer [Sasha's](bigbrotherlouis.tumblr.com) work can be found [here](http://8tracks.com/darlingjustdont/all-roads-lead-to-here) .

Louis hears his voice before he sees him. His shoulders tense instinctively, but he doesn’t realize why until he rounds the corner and discovers that the huge reserved table is now occupied by a host of fashionable-looking people and Nick Grimshaw. He freezes like a bloody deer in headlights and considers running away before reminding himself that he needs this job, and Nick always tipped well back when Louis worked for him. It could be worse. It could be his boss from the Toys R Us, come all the way down from Doncaster to torture him personally. It could be one of the twats from secondary school. Nick, he can deal with. He straightens up, smooths the front of his button-down, and approaches the table with a wide, professional smile. 

“Hello ladies, gentlemen, how are we doing this evening?” he asks. He can see the moment where Nick recognizes his voice, the way he stiffens, turning slowly. Louis forces himself to keep smiling as the rest of the table—and bloody hell, that’s Harry Styles off of X Factor, and Alexa Chung—murmur that they’re well, thanks. “I’m Louis, I’m going to be your waiter this evening, so if you have any questions or concerns, just flag me down and I’ll pop on by. Can I get you any drinks to start with?”

He takes their orders for several bottles of wine, cocktails, a pint for the blond sitting across from Nick, and scotch, neat for the woman sitting next to Nick, who he vaguely recognizes from the station. Nick hasn’t stopped staring at him, and Louis desperately wants to tell him to fuck off, but instead he just skips over him to ask Harry bloody Styles what he wants to drink.

“You’re not from around here,” Harry Styles off of X Factor says instead of ordering, his brow furrowed. He’s as stunning in real life as he’d been on the telly, and his hair is even longer than Louis remembers, nearly as long as Lottie’s. “You sound northern. Where are you from?”

“Doncaster,” Nick says suddenly. Everyone at the table turns to look at him. “He’s from Doncaster.”

“Cheers,” Louis says dryly. 

“That’s one hell of a party trick, Grimmy,” says Scotch Neat. “Never seen you do that one before.”

“You don’t—oh, right, you never worked with him,” Nick says. “Louis used to do work experience at Radio 1.”

“About a million years ago,” Louis says dismissively, even though it had only been about five years, and he still thinks about it all the time. “Can I get you something, Nick?” 

“Just a glass so I can nick some of Alexa’s wine,” Nick says. “Nothing for Harold, he’s got to watch his voice.”

“I can have a glass,” Harry Styles off of X Factor protests. “Can’t I, Niall?”

“I’m staying out of this one, mate,” says the blond who’d ordered a pint, and oh, Louis recognizes him now. He’s Niall Horan, the bloke who was on X Factor the same year as Harry and got booted pretty quickly. He and Harry had formed a band after the show had ended and Harry had done his solo albums. “You and Grimmy can fight it out.”

“He just wants to make sure I don’t sound rubbish in the Live Lounge,” Harry says to Louis. “Since he vouched for us and all.”

“It’s for your own good, love,” Nick says. “Louis, if you’ve got time after, I’d love to chat.”

“Yeah,” Louis lies. “Of course. I’ll be back with your drinks in just a moment, all right?”

He has to take a moment to breathe when he gets to the bar. Liam comes down to his end and taps his hand lightly, raising his kind eyebrows, silently asking if he’s all right. Louis shakes his head and rattles off what he needs for the table before glancing back over his shoulder. 

Nick is still fucking watching him. 

 

Somehow, he gets through it. 

They’re all friendly people, cheerful and nice, which makes it worse, honestly. If they were utter twats, Louis could just complain about another table of snobby rich people, but they’re nice, and Nick is nice, and they make jokes with him at Nick’s expense, all, “When you worked for him, was he such an exacting pain in the arse?” when Nick lists about fifty special requests for his risotto. 

“He was worse,” Louis says. Nick grins, not even a hint of self-consciousness, and _shit_ , it’s so easy to fall back into the banter they had when Louis worked for him. Shit fuck bugger. “I’ll go get that obscenely complicated order in, shall I? And do let me know if you decide you want it flambéed or sommat.”

“Saucy,” Harry Styles off of X Factor says approvingly. “I like it.”

Louis flashes him a smile and flees to the kitchen to put their orders in. He skulks by Ellie’s prep counter until she shoos him away, saying he’s going to muck up her mincing if he pouts at her much longer. When he pouts even more, she sighs and promises she’ll stay after for drinks if he just stops bothering her. 

Nick’s group finally clears out around closing time, leaving, as Louis had expected, a magnificently large tip. Nick seems to have forgotten about wanting to speak to him, thank god. Louis isn’t really feeling up to pretending that he’s totally fine at the end of his shift when all he really wants is a drink and to go home and skype his sisters. He had never talked to Nick about his home life, really, and he doesn’t want to explain the series of events that led to him going back to Doncaster and not coming back for three years. No one knows the full details of that, not even Liam, who knows more than anyone else. 

When the last of the customers have cleared out, Louis sighs, unbuttons his shirt a little, and rolls up his sleeves before sitting down at the bar. “Jesus Christ, that was a long day. Pour me a pint, Liam.”

“Was that Harry Styles?” Liam asks, wide-eyed and completely ignoring Louis’s very polite request. “Did I tell you I met him once?”

“Only about a hundred times, Liam,” Louis says, pretending to be annoyed. “Blah blah blah he came by your class and you remixed one of his songs and he thought it was fucking wicked.”

“It was a big moment, Tommo,” Liam says with dignity. “What’s got you so sour? Thought you’d be right pleased to meet him, you only have all his albums.”

“Oh, don’t go on about it.” Louis beckons for Liam to pour him a pint. “They’re just customers, you know? Got to treat them like anyone else.”

“Not our Harry, he’s a proper diva,” says Nick, voice unnervingly close. Louis’s shoulders go up around his ears defensively. “Don’t tell him I said that, of course, he’d get stroppy with me.”

Louis doesn’t turn around, but that doesn’t stop Nick from sliding onto the stool next to him. Nick’s arm brushes his, a brief pressure that is almost immediately gone again. This close, he can smell Nick’s cologne, familiar from so many hours spent together in close proximity with him. Louis breathes in shallowly and reminds himself that he isn’t eighteen anymore. He has no business getting flustered by Nick Grimshaw.

“Don’t you have parties to go to?” Louis asks him. “Dance the night away and all that?”

“I work mornings now, haven’t you heard?” Nick says. “Anyway, I said I wanted to talk to you. You disappeared off the face of the earth after your stint with us was done. Don’t get me wrong, I’m dead pleased. I was convinced you’d steal my job from me.”

“With this voice? I haven’t got a voice for radio,” Louis says. Liam is watching them wide-eyed, the glass in his hand overflowing with lager. “Liam, I think you’ve filled that one enough.”

“Oh!” Liam laughs and pulls the glass away from the tap. “Sorry about that.”

“Still beer, isn’t it?” Louis takes it and takes a long, steady pull. Shit, he really fucking needed that. “Liam, this is Nick. Nick, this is Liam Payne, my roommate.”

“Hiya,” Nick says easily, holding out his hand. “Are you into radio too?”

“Not really,” Liam says, shaking Nick’s hand and looking absurdly starstruck. Honestly, it’s only Nick. “I just mess about, nothing like what you do.”

“Mess about,” Louis scoffs. “Nicholas, Liam here is doing a course in sound engineering and he’s proper good at it. He’s even had a few remixes go viral online, and he thinks it’s just messing about.”

“I’d like to have a listen,” Nick says. “Always good to know what my competition’s up to.”

Liam actually blushes. Louis needs new friends, ones who don’t act like love-struck teenagers when they meet his old bosses. “I’m not competition at all, I swear.”

“Yeah he is,” Louis says. “Watch out, Grimshaw, he’ll be coming for the Breakfast Show soon.”

“About time, I’m going to go off the deep end if I keep having to wake up at five bloody a.m.” Nick gives Louis a little sly smile, the one Louis remembers from when Nick would make a self-deprecating joke that was pure and utter lies. “Be glad you left before that madness started, Louis. I’d have dragged you with me if I could’ve.”

Louis lifts his beer and drinks until he thinks he can speak without his voice shaking. “Yeah,” he says, setting the nearly-empty glass down. “Dodged a bullet there.”

“Wait,” Liam says. “Louis, you worked with Nick?”

“Ages ago,” Louis says. “It was just a work experience job, nothing special.”

“Except for how he was one of the best work experience kids I’ve ever had around,” Nick says. “He has a way of bullying people to come on the show that outdoes anyone I’ve ever seen, he’s dead funny, and he makes an excellent cup of coffee considering he doesn’t drink the stuff.”

“You shouldn’t either,” Louis says. “Pretty sure your veins are just coffee now, no blood involved.”

“You may be right.” Nick regards him steadily for a moment. “Are you busy tomorrow morning?”

“Tomorrow _morning_?” Louis asks. “Well, I was planning on sleeping in, since I don’t have to be at work until three—”

“Come in to the show,” Nick says. “You too, Liam, if you fancy it. I’ll have Fifi show you around—I still got Fifi, she misses you—and you can do some of your old magic.” 

Louis is about to say no—he wants to say no, he _has_ to say no—but he catches Liam giving him the biggest, saddest eyes he’s ever seen. And he’s made it his mission to be Extra Nice to Liam after Danielle, so waking up at the arse crack of dawn to go hang out at the dream job he’d abandoned it is. “Fine,” he says. “But we’re not coming in until after the Waking Up Song.”

“You _do_ listen!” Nick says triumphantly. “Seriously Louis, we’ve missed you. I swear Finchy mentions you daily, when he isn’t rhapsodizing about Niall. He has some seriously odd ideas about guitar calluses.”

Louis really wishes Nick would stop saying all these names of people he had once considered friends; the people he had dropped along with the radio job and everything else when his mum had called him and told him she and his stepdad were getting divorced; the people he hasn’t spoken to in five years because it’s just easier not to. He had really loved that job. He’d loved those people. 

“I missed Greg,” Louis says instead, just to annoy Nick. “He’s a right laugh.”

“You git,” Nick says. “All right. You still know where it is? Yeah, course you do. Just tell them that you’re there for me and Fiona will come get you. I’m so glad, Louis, I really am. None of us knew what had happened to you. Had us properly freaked out.”

Louis shrugs. “Sorry about that,” he says vaguely. “Stuff came up.”

“Yeah, I suppose.” Nick claps Louis on the shoulder as he stands up. “Well, we’ll sort that out. It was nice meeting you, Liam, and I’ll see you both in the morning, all right?” He waves and sails out, ridiculously dramatic as always. 

“Was that _Nick Grimshaw_?” comes Ellie’s incredulous voice. She flings herself into Nick’s abandoned stool and eyes them beadily, clearly eager for gossip. 

Louis drops his head onto the bar and groans loudly. Liam pats him on the shoulder and answers for him, saying, “Apparently so.”

“Oh my god,” Ellie says. She smacks Louis in the arm. “I can’t believe you didn’t call me. What did he order?”

“You realize you’re very strange, right?” Louis asks her, voice muffled by his arms. Ellie smacks him again and he raises his head to scowl at her. “It was the risotto with like a hundred fiddly requests.”

“Of course,” Ellie says wisely, like she actually knows. “Rum and coke, Liam?”

“I’m off work too, you know,” Liam says, but not very crossly. He’s already taking out the rum and a glass. He really is quite a marshmallow. Maybe Louis will keep him after all. 

 

Louis’s alarm goes off obscenely early the next morning. He groans and presses his face into his pillow, reaching blindly for his clock and succeeding in knocking it off the bedside table. Hoping desperately that he hasn’t broken it, he cracks his eyes open and gropes for his phone. A moment later, Liam bursts into his room and jumps on the end of his bed. 

“I’m so excited!” he says. “I can’t believe you never told me you worked at Radio 1, Louis, you know that I would think that was awesome—” He continues talking, but Louis shoves the pillow over his face and starts humming loudly to drown him out. That’s when Liam yanks the blankets off him. 

“Liam!” Louis gasps, scandalized. Sometimes he regrets corrupting Liam so thoroughly. The Liam he’d first befriended would have never done this. “I could be naked under there!”

“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” Liam says. “Come on, Louis, I want to be there on time.”

“We didn’t decide on a time,” Louis points out. He pulls the pillow off his face and throws it at Liam. “Why are you so disgustingly cheerful in the morning? Why did I decide to live with you?”

“Because we can’t afford this city on our own,” Liam says, quite rightly. “Get _up_ , you lazy sod. We have to get there somehow.”

Louis and Liam’s flat isn’t at all near where Louis lived when he was working at Radio 1, and it takes what seems like ages to get there, but Louis gets the familiar feeling of excitement and nerves as they get closer to the BBC Broadcasting House. He grabs onto Liam’s hand and squeezes tightly, ignoring Liam’s startled look, and takes a breath as they get off the train. Liam is wide-eyed as they walk down Regents Street and gets even more starry-eyed when they turn down Langham and see the glass entrance, the BBC logo emblazoned over the doors. Louis remembers feeling like that the first day—all right, the first month—he had come to work.

He gives his and Liam’s name to the security desk when they arrive, and they cool their heels in the lobby until Fiona comes down to fetch them. Liam keeps darting around to look at things, shouting excitedly back to Louis like he thinks Louis can’t see. Louis, on the other hand, is trying to forget that the last time he was here, he was barely holding it together, and had broken down in tears on the tube like an utter loser. 

Fiona comes down a few minutes later, looking much the same as Louis remembers. She greets him with, “Tommo!” and drags him into a hug, startling him with its intensity. He gets a mouthful of her hair and spits it out, squeezing her back just as tight. God, he’s missed her. He’s missed taking the piss out of Nick with her and making fun of her when she came into work hungover. 

“Hey Fifi,” he says when she steps back. “This is my roommate Liam. He’s doing a sound course.”

“Brilliant,” Fiona says, holding out her hand. “I’m Fiona, assistant producer on Nick’s show. Come on up, he’s dying to see you.” She rolls her eyes dramatically at him. “Hasn’t shut up about it all morning.”

Nick is in the middle of a link when they come in, rambling into the mic at Tina and his producer, who are tolerating him with admirable calm. Fiona waits until Nick cues in the next song to usher them in, calling out, “Oi, Grimmy, your guests are here!”

Nick jumps to his feet when Louis and Liam come in, coming over to give both of them hugs. “Hiya,” he says brightly. “Welcome! Obviously you’ve met Fiona already, but this is Tina, our brilliant newsreader, and Producer Vic. Guys, these are Louis and Liam. Louis did work experience on my night show ages ago.”

“I remember you,” Producer Vic says. She’s teeny tiny and has the air of wisdom Louis is convinced all producers magically acquire once they have their own show. “You’d talk on the show sometimes.”

“When he would _steal the mic_ ,” Nick says. “You know his placement was only supposed to last a week? And then he ended up here for _months_ because they liked him so much. By the time he left he was practically a fourth producer.”

“Because _you_ liked him so much,” Fiona says. “Come on Louis, sit down with Grimmy. Liam, would you like me to show you around the studio? Grimmy said you’d be interested to see how things work.”

Liam, of course, leaps at the chance, and abandons Louis to Nick. Nick gestures for Louis to sit and hands him a pair of headphones. “Do you remember how to do this?” he asks teasingly. “We should have you talk for a bit in the next link, what do you think?”

“I can’t do that,” Louis says, but Vic is nodding like she thinks it’s a brilliant idea. “Nick, come on. What am I meant to say?”

“That I’m wonderful and brilliant and you miss working with me daily,” Nick says. “Oh, song’s almost up.” He picks up his own headphones and leans in close to the mic. “And that was some Disclosure for you, still love that track. What about you, Tina? You feeling it today?”

“Absolutely,” Tina says with a bright smile. 

“Producer Vic?”

“Yeah, it’s all right,” Vic says. “I’d say an eight out of ten.”

“Tough crowd!” Nick says in delight. “And—this is a special surprise—Work Experience Louis, who some of you might remember from my night show, what do you think?”

Louis blinks at him, then leans in toward the microphone. “Bit early for that kind of music, don’t you think?”

“What, you want all whale songs or sommat?”

“Just saying not everyone raves at half seven in the morning,” Louis says. 

“He says this like I haven’t seen him raving at half seven in the morning,” Nick says. He’s smiling, like he’s missed this. Maybe he has. Louis has, more than he wants to admit even to himself. 

“I haven’t done that in _ages_ ,” Louis says. “Some of us have proper jobs.”

“All grown up and proper,” Nick says in an absolutely horrible impression of Louis’s accent. “Louis, for those of you who don’t know, did my night show and used to pop on every now and then.”

“And Nicholas has missed me dearly, haven’t you?” Louis reaches over to pinch Nick’s cheek, and crap, are they still good enough friends for that? Is that okay? 

Nick grins, though, and smacks Louis’s hand away. “Like a rash, love,” he says. “So if any of you have questions for Work Experience Louis, text them in to eight double-one double-nine or send them in over Twitter.” 

“I know all of Nick’s secrets,” Louis adds, just to be a dick, and he laughs when Nick glares at him. “So ask me anything.”

Fiona and Liam come back as Louis is answering a question about what he’s been doing since he was last on Nick’s show. Louis is making up a whole load of horseshit, not wanting to say he’s been working service jobs to keep himself and his family afloat, and he waves absently when Liam sits down. He leans back from the mic as Nick leads them back into a song and squeezes Liam’s knee. 

“Have fun?” he asks. 

“This is brilliant,” Liam says breathlessly. “You sounded good! Did you do this a lot?”

“I suppose,” Louis says. “Maybe we should go have a seat outside so we can talk.” 

“Stick around,” Nick says as Liam rises to his feet. “The Live Lounge today is going to be wicked, I’m gonna be here to watch it. You should come too.”

“Nick,” Louis says, trying to decide how to weasel out of this. 

“Oh, isn’t it Peaseblossom today?” Liam asks. Right, Harry Styles’s band. Louis would like to see them, if he’s honest. “I’d love to see them!”

“You should stay, have some brekkie, drink some tea,” Nick says. “Someone will show you around if Lou doesn’t remember where things are.”

Liam mouths _Lou_. Louis decides that it’s high time to get the hell out of there. “Thanks, Nick, we’ll stick around. We’ll be out at one of the desks.”

Louis grabs Liam’s hand and tows him out of the room, out through the Live Lounge, and to the desks. Louis picks one at random and sits down, tugging Liam toward him. Liam grabs his own chair from a neighbouring desk and rolls in close to stare at Louis with a look of mild concern. 

“What?” Louis asks grumpily, trying to push him away, but Liam plants his feet. 

“Louis. You never told me you worked at Radio 1,” Liam says. “Nick Grimshaw is your mate. He called you Lou.”

“Yeah, what of it?” Louis picks up a pen from the desk and starts scribbling on a Post-It. _NICK GRIMSHAW HAS SILLY HAIR_ , he writes, and he slaps it to the monitor. “It was ages ago, don’t go on about it.”

“Come _on_ , don’t be like that.” Liam takes the pen from his hands as Louis reaches for another Post-It. “Why didn’t you ever tell me? Or say anything about it? Why did you _leave_?”

“Liam,” Louis says in exasperation. “Why won’t you leave it?”

“Louis,” Liam counters, and when Louis meets his eyes, Liam is watching him with that determined, earnest face that gets him whatever he wants. 

“That was when, you know, my mum got divorced,” Louis says quietly. Liam makes a soft noise and reaches out to cover Louis’s hand. Louis takes a breath and continues, “It was the summer after I failed my A levels, and I moved down here in a sublet to work. But after Dad left, we couldn’t afford it, not with me only getting work experience money. Lottie was only thirteen at the time, you know? And Mum had four of them to look after, all by herself. So I went home to help take care of them. Guess Nick and all thought I just went off to uni or whatever.”

“And you haven’t told Nick that?” Liam asks. “He’d understand, I’m sure of it.”

“What’s the point? It was five years ago now,” Liam says. “I only moved back down to London to work, not to get back into all—that. Besides, what am I supposed to tell them? That my family’s poor? I don’t want them to feel sorry for me.”

“It isn’t that bad,” Liam says. “They _like_ you. Maybe you could get a job here!”

“God, Liam, that’s—I wasn’t qualified the first time, what makes you think that’s different?” Louis rubs his face. “Don’t tell anyone about this, okay? I just want to work and send money home. The girls deserve better than what I have.”

“So do you,” Liam says. “God, Louis. So do you.”

Louis doesn’t know about that. He had his chance at better back in school, and he’d mucked up his A Levels something awful, and then he’d run away to London to do work experience on a whim rather than prepare for them again. He had never made it to taking them a second time, never made it to uni, and at the end of the day that was on him. That was his choice. These days, he’s just happy he’s able to help out his mum and sisters. 

“Right,” Liam says after a moment when Louis doesn’t say anything. “I fancy a cuppa. Want to show me where they keep the tea around here?”

They spend the rest of Nick’s show wandering around the offices with a pair of purloined mugs in hand and snooping on the few people who are in at this ungodly hour. As more and more people start arriving for work, the office slowly becomes livelier. Liam is obviously insanely curious, being dreadfully overt as he peers over people’s shoulders trying to get a look at their work.

“You’ll never be a spy, mate,” Louis tells him mournfully when one of the women scowls and hunches further over her screen to keep Liam from looking. 

“What?” Liam asks, looking over and nearly knocking a cup of pens off the woman’s desk. Louis shakes his head and tows him back over toward Nick’s studio, seeing how it’s getting on towards the end of the show. When Clara takes over, Nick comes bounding out through the Live Lounge, annoyingly bright eyed for how he _has_ to have been up since half five at least, and takes them both by the arm. 

“Peaseblossom aren’t on until twelve, so let’s go grab something to eat, shall we?” he says. “Fifi, you coming?”

“I’ve got actual work to do,” she says, swatting him on the arse as she brushes past him. “Have fun with your boy toys.”

Liam turns delightfully pink. Louis grins at her and says, “In his dreams, Hanlon.”

They eat sandwiches in the canteen, Nick ignoring Louis to grill Liam mercilessly about his family, his friends, his course, how he and Louis met, on and on until Louis digs his elbow into Nick’s side. “Give it a rest,” he says when Nick yelps and looks at him askance. “He’s trying to eat, mate.”

“I have not missed you at all,” Nick says, but he’s smiling, and Louis has to look down at his plate so he doesn’t feel fond. 

The thing is, when he first started at BBC1, he and Nick couldn’t stand each other. Louis can admit now that he’d had a bit of a chip on his shoulder, defensive about his accent, his working class background, his education, and his sexuality, all at once. And then, of every show he could have been put on, they picked Nick Grimshaw’s show, him of the Northern charm and not-so-undercover gayness. Not that he was really camp, at all, but he had the kind of personality people back home would have gotten up on him for, like they sometimes had gotten on Louis for liking musical theatre and colourful trousers. Nick was everything Louis wanted to be, uninhibited and funny and _successful_ , and Louis had been a right tit about it at first. 

He and Nick had a huge row the first week he’d been assigned to the show over a Twitter campaign Louis thought was stupid. It had culminated in Louis throwing a package of tea at Nick’s head and storming out of the office. He’d been convinced that he’d be assigned elsewhere or fired, except Nick had asked for Louis to be permanently attached to the show. When Louis had worked up the nerve to ask why, Nick had shrugged and said, “You’re funny.”

That was the thing about Nick. As much as he surrounded himself with people who liked him—people who _loved_ him—he also liked people who took the piss out of him and people who challenged him, and Louis fit both those criteria. The next week, Nick had gestured Louis over to the mic during a link and said, “This is Work Experience Louis, he’s a youth with his finger on the pulse, so let’s ask him what he thinks of this Bieber situation.” 

God, it had been fun. Louis knows now that the things he’d done as work experience were far from the norm, but they had gotten away with it somehow, Louis being almost like an honorary assistant producer for one glorious summer. Louis had even let himself think about what he’d do when he went back home; he’d get his A Levels and take a course in broadcasting, get himself into that. He could talk, and he liked music and sport, he could easily be on the radio if he tried. 

He should have known better, really. Things like that don’t work out for him. 

 

Nick leads the way back to the Live Lounge a little after noon and introduces them to Clara during a song. Liam immediately asks if he can look at the sound engineering board, and he wanders off with Clara’s producer, leaving Louis to stand awkwardly with Nick against the weirdly padded walls. Luckily Harry Styles and Niall Horan come in then, the other members of their band trailing after them. Louis doesn’t know their names, but then, he only knows Harry and Niall off of X Factor. Nick greets them all with huge hugs and air-kisses while Louis hangs back, unsure of his place. Niall and the others go off to check up on their instruments, but Harry stays behind, looking around curiously. His gaze lands on Louis after a moment, and he quirks his eyebrows.

“You were our waiter last night,” Harry says. He doesn’t sound accusatory, despite the fact that he must be wondering why Louis is there. “The one from Doncaster.”

“That’s the one,” Louis says. “I used to work for Nick, like he said.”

“Right,” Harry says. “I think I remember you on his show.” He tilts his head, smirk starting at his lips. “Didn’t the two of you used to play ‘Guess What Louis Put In His Mouth Today?’” 

Louis laughs and says, “Good memory, Styles.”

“The best was when you made him guess by describing it,” Harry says, grinning. “He used to get proper flustered.”

“Are you talking about me?” Nick asks, returning to them and draping himself over Harry’s shoulders. He looks very comfortable, and Harry barely seems to notice he’s there. Louis doesn’t pay much attention to the gossip rags, but he can’t help but wonder what they’ve been saying about Nick and Harry. Harry seems like Nick’s type, even if he isn’t a model. He’s got the tall, gangly, artistic thing that Nick likes, and Louis can admit he’s lovely, if a bit young for Nick. 

“Absolutely not,” Louis says just as Harry says, “Yep!” 

“One of you is lying,” Nick says, mouth quirking. “And I think I know who.”

“I always tell the truth,” Louis says. He widens his eyes innocently and pouts at Harry. “Don’t make a liar out of me, Styles.”

Harry looks actually torn, which is rather charming since they don’t even know each other. He worries at his lower lip, gaze darting to Nick, and then he breaks into a sunny smile. “We weren’t talking about you, Grimmy.”

“I leave you with him for five seconds and you’ve already corrupted him,” Nick says, shaking his head. 

“Oi, Grimmy, we need our lead singer!” Peaseblossom’s drummer calls. Harry grins at Louis, pats Nick’s hand, and wriggles out from underneath him to head over to his band. Nick leans back against the wall, watching him go. 

Louis shoves his hands into his pockets and says the first thing to come into his head. “Fit, isn’t he?”

Nick glances at him. “Suppose,” he says slowly. “You fancy him? He’s a good lad, he’d be a good boyfriend.”

“You’re not seeing him?” Louis asks. 

“Ha, no. I’m strictly against dating people a decade younger than me,” Nick says. “Anything up to that, sure.”

“Ah, of course,” Louis says. “Just, you seem very friendly.”

“We’re mates, Louis,” Nick says, starting to smile. “Honestly, if you fancy him, say the word. He can be a bit flighty, but—”

“I don’t fancy him,” Louis says, a little too loudly. He catches Niall giving them a curious look, so he lowers his voice. “I was just making conversation.”

“Do you have a boyfriend, then?” Nick asks. “Oh, is it Liam? He’s well fit, looks a bit Beckham-ish.”

“You can’t date him,” Louis says immediately. “He’s my _roommate_ , you aren’t going to date him. And no, he isn’t my boyfriend. I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“No?” Nick tilts his head like a curious bird. “How is that going, then?” 

Nick was the first person Louis had ever come out to, late one night when they'd gone out after the show and gotten pissed together. Louis had barely admitted it to himself back then, had pushed down every flicker of attraction until he could pretend to himself that he was just too busy with school, with his sisters, with work to pay more than perfunctory attention to girls. And then he had come to London, and he had met Nick, who wasn’t publicly out but wasn’t really closeted, either, and it was like having a new world open up for him. 

Back home, he hadn’t known any adults who were out. Known _of_ them, sure. There was Lizzie, the older sister of his classmate Greg, who had met her girlfriend at uni and gotten married in Canada, and there was a man who worked at the grocery store who everyone said had a boyfriend. But none of them really seemed _real._ Nick, on the other hand, was solid and tangible and right in front of Louis, talking about his dates, laughing when Henry and Gillian made fun of him for hooking up with models, and flirting like he didn’t care who noticed.

So it was Nick who Louis told first, the two of them lying on the floor of Nick’s flat with a bottle of wine between them. It was easier, perhaps, because it was in the dark, to say into the comfortable silence, “I’m gay.”

And Nick hadn’t made a big deal out of it, which was all Louis wanted. He said, “All right,” and “Is there anyone you fancy?” and “Would you like more wine?” 

Louis has dated a bit since then, slept around more, but hasn’t had anyone he could term a _boyfriend_. He’s pretty sure that’ll sound a bit pathetic, though, so he shrugs and says, “I do all right,” in response to Nick’s question. 

“Bet you do,” Nick says. “Have all the lads falling at your feet and that, don’t you?”

“What are you saying?” Louis asks, narrowing his eyes. “Calling me a slag?”

“Oh, for—no, I’m not,” Nick says. “All right, shh, it’s about to start.”

“ _You’re_ the one who’s talking,” Louis hisses. Nick pokes him in the shoulder with one of his absurdly long fingers, and Louis falls silent as Liam scurries over from the soundboard to join them. 

Peaseblossom is good, and even better live than what Louis’s heard on the radio. He’d bought Harry’s solo albums back before he was able to go off and start his band, because he likes Harry’s voice, but he hasn’t listened much to their record yet. It’s got a nice piano bit, and Niall’s guitar is more indie rock than punk, and Harry’s voice is still amazing, low and smoky, only now he has Niall and the tall guy on bass to join him in harmony. 

They perform their single, “Cloudy With A Chance,” and then do a spectacular cover of an Ella Henderson track that has Louis clapping vigorously as Harry clasps his hands together and bows, beaming at them all. Nick tugs him and Liam out of the room as Clara moves to talking to the band, the door shutting quietly behind them. 

“That was amazing,” Liam says breathlessly, eyes shining. “Wasn’t it amazing, Louis?”

“They were really good,” Louis says. “Tell Harry we said so, will you?

“Of course. Are you heading out now?” Nick asks. 

“Yeah, I think we had better,” Louis says. “We’ve got to be at work later.”

"Fair enough. But give me your number," Nick says, phone already out. 

"What for?" Louis asks, flushing at the thought of his battered Nokia. Nick’s got the latest iPhone, shiny and huge, so much nicer than his. Nick probably wouldn’t say anything, but Louis doesn’t want to give him the chance for pity.

"So I can call you, why else?" Nick waves his phone at Louis. "Come on, Louis, we haven't got all day."

"I work a lot, so don’t call me too much, and I don't have emojis so don't bother," Louis says, taking the phone and typing in his number. He's been meaning to upgrade for a while, but it seems like every time he gets to it, one of the girls breaks hers and Louis ends up giving them his upgrades. Louis only really needs his phone to get calls about shifts anyway.

"All right," Nick says. "I don't want to lose track of you again, is all, though I suppose I know where you work now."

"Don't you bloody come by just to bother me," Louis says. “I’ll get fired, and then where will I be?”

"Of course not," Nick says. He's probably lying. Nick loves to pester his friends at work. "I'm also going to call you if there's any openings here, yeah? We'd love to have you back, I'm sure of it."

"Yeah, whatever," Louis says, knowing full well that he'd never get any real job at the Beeb. "Liam and I've got to go now, don't we, Liam?"

“Um,” Liam says as Louis grabs him by the arm. “It was nice meeting you properly, Nick! Thanks for showing us around!”

“Any friend of Louis’s,” says Nick, and then they’re through the door and on their way out, Louis practically dragging Liam to the street.

"I think he fancies you," Liam says in a conspiratorial tone as they make their way back to the Tube. "Louis. Did you hear me? I think Nick fancies you."

"Yes, Liam, all of London's probably heard you now," Louis mutters, pushing Liam toward the station. "Doesn't matter if he does, I'm not going to see him again."

"What?" Liam actually stops dead in the middle of the stairs and refuses to move no matter how hard Louis shoves at his shoulder. "Louis!"

"Oh my god," Louis says. “Who are you, an agony aunt?”

“Never mind him fancying you, he wants to offer you a job, Louis, a _proper_ job,” Liam says. “You can’t say that you don’t want _that_.”

“I’d fuck it up within a week, Liam,” Louis says. “Nick should have fired me when I worked for him. Any normal person would have. For Christ’s sake, will you _move_?’

Liam finally starts heading down the stairs, still frowning back at Louis and nearly knocking over a small child in the process. “Oh! I’m sorry,” he says to the child’s mother, who glares at him before rushing her sprog away. “Look, you hate being a waiter,” Liam says to Louis as they pass through the turnstiles to the platform. “You hate it, and surely working at the BBC would be better pay than the restaurant.”

“Fat lot of good that does me if I can’t get hired,” Louis says. “Will you just drop it already? I’m getting a headache.”

“Fine,” Liam says. They both fall quiet as the next train approaches the station. Once they’re inside the car, Liam nudges Louis in the arm and says, “I still think he fancies you.”

“Let it go, will you?” Louis reaches over and tweaks Liam’s nipple, hard. Liam yelps and smacks his hand away. “Or I’ll start teasing you about that girl who keeps coming in and sitting at the bar and pretending that she’s been stood up.”

“Her name is Isabelle, and you’ve been teasing me about her for _three months_ ,” Liam says. “And she’s a perfectly nice girl.”

“No one gets stood up that many times,” Louis says, satisfied that he’s managed to distract Liam from Nick. “What was her excuse last time?”

Liam sputters indignantly and leaps to Isabelle’s defence. Louis tunes him out, hand pressed against the bulge of his phone in his pocket. Down in the tunnels it won’t get a signal, so it isn’t as though it’s going to buzz. He keeps his hand there anyway. 

 

Nick texts him a few times over the next week, the first to say, _This is Nick!_ with a square that’s probably an emoji Louis’s phone can’t read, and the rest to talk about random things happening through his day. Louis doesn’t text back much other than once to remind Nick that he doesn’t have unlimited texts and to keep it to important information only, please. So when his phone buzzes on Thursday while he and Liam are hanging around the flat, he opens it up with a slight feeling of anticipation.

_Are you and Liam doing anything this weekend? We’re having an X Factor party at mine._

Louis throws a pillow at Liam to get his attention and then tosses his phone over so Liam can see for himself. “Ooh,” Liam says, reading it. “Can we go? Don’t say no, Lou. We can sort it with someone at the restaurant, maybe leave early. It’s at nine, isn’t it?”

“Won’t it be a bit weird watching it with him on the telly too?” Louis leans across the couch to grab his phone back. Liam hikes his textbook closer to him and pouts at Louis. “You really want to, don’t you.”

“I know it’s a bit weird that you used to work for him,” Liam says, “but he’s nice, isn’t he? And it’ll probably be a laugh.”

Louis hums as he taps out, _You just want to show off ur fancy flat and ur ugly mug on tv !! haha we’ll be there mate_

 _Perfect_ , Nick sends back a few minutes later, along with his address. Louis digs his toes into Liam’s calf, breath coming fast. He knows Nick’s flat. He’s been there before, but maybe Nick doesn’t remember that. God, what is he doing? 

“Looks like we’re set,” he says cheerfully, tucking his phone away and doing his best to pretend that the prospect of spending more time with Nick isn’t freaking him out. “We should bring a gift, shouldn’t we?”

“Like what?” Liam asks. “Chocolates?”

“Wine,” Louis says. He smiles mischievously and adds, “Boxed wine.”

When they arrive at Nick’s flat at half nine on Saturday evening, Nick throws open the door, says, “What time do you call this?” before pulling them both into hugs. He’s clearly already a bit pissed, his cheeks pink and his hair tousled, and he doesn’t actually seem to mind that they’re running late because they hadn’t been able to get off work as early as they wanted. “Come in, come in.”

A lovely white bull terrier comes running to them as they kick off their shows by the door with the others—Liam kneels down to put them in a neat row, the suck-up—and Louis crouches down to scratch at her head. “Hello, lovely,” he says. “You’re Pig, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, you won’t have met her, have you?” Nick asks. He’s conjured a wine glass from somewhere and holding it with two fingers flicked out like an utter knob. “This is my girl.”

“She’s lovely,” Louis says as Pig rolls over onto her back. “Far too lovely for you. I may have to steal her.”

“Our building doesn’t allow pets,” Liam says. He’s such a buzzkill sometimes. “Thank you for having us, Nick. Sorry we’re a bit late.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Nick says. “Want anything to drink? We’ve got snacks out, feel free to help yourself, but let me grab you each a glass.”

“We’ve brought some wine,” Louis says, shrugging off his backpack. He produces his boxed wine and watches Nick’s face go through a series of strained emotions before he realizes Louis’s taking the piss. “The finest Tesco has to offer.”

“We’ll break that out once we’re too drunk to taste it, love,” Nick says through his laughter. “Very kind of you.”

“We brought nice wine too,” Liam says, looking at Louis with a reproving expression. “Or at least, I was told it’s nice.”

“You work as a _bartender_ ,” Louis says. “Shouldn’t you know?”

“I’m a bartender, not a wine-whatsit,” Liam says crossly. “Sommeli-something.”

“Sommelier,” Nick says as Louis pulls out the nice bottle. Nick takes it from him to read the label and knocks Louis with his shoulder. Louis steps on his foot. “Ooh, this should be nice. Come on lads, you’re missing crucial footage of my face.”

Nick’s flat is full to bursting, the couches packed and several people lounging on the floor. Louis recognizes most of them from when he’d worked for Nick, some of them having popped in the studio and others having gone out with them on the weekends. There’s Gillian, Pixie, Daisy Lowe, Mairead and her son, Aimee and Ian, Finchy—who waves enthusiastically when he sees Louis—and then there’s Niall Horan and Harry Styles, tangled in a pile on the floor and whispering in each other’s ears. 

“Louis and Liam are here!” Nick announces grandly. “Grab a seat anywhere, lads, I’ll be back.”

Louis shoves Finchy over to squeeze in between him and Mairead, which is entirely so he can make faces at wee Arlo, who looks mostly asleep as it is. “Bit past his bedtime, poor little lad, isn’t it?” he asks her. 

“A bit,” she agrees. “It’s Louis, right?”

Introductions are made as Liam sits down at Louis’s feet, bumping elbows with Harry Styles, who looks up and beams at both of them. 

“I never properly met you,” he says to Liam. “But you were at the studio during our Live Lounge, weren’t you?”

Liam looks as though he might spontaneously combust at Harry Styles just speaking to him, so Louis leans over to say, “This is Liam, he’s my roommate. He loves you.”

“I don’t—Louis, stop it.” Liam smacks his knee. “It’s just, I doubt you’d remember this at all, but you came into a course I was taking once and I did a remix of one of your songs. You liked it, I think.”

Harry’s face lights up—and Louis has never seen anyone before who truly _lit up_ when they smiled, but that’s the only way to describe Harry—and he says, “Oh, yes! I remember. Good to see you again, nice to meet you properly. You had longer hair then.”

“Yes, I did,” Liam says breathlessly as Harry shakes his hand. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

“Of course I do. Hey, you left early after the Live Lounge, though,” Harry says. “Did we sound awful?”

“Oh, no!” Liam says. There are practically stars in his eyes. “You were brilliant.”

“He’s _joking_ , Liam,” Louis says, kneeing Liam in the back. Aimee shushes him, flapping her hand as onscreen Nick starts to talk. It’s a bit weird, seeing him on telly like this, and even weirder when Nick returns, three wine glasses precariously balanced between his hands. Louis accepts one and drinks half of it in one swallow, which probably someone would say is classless of him, and they wouldn’t really be wrong.

It’s the audition stage, which Louis’s always liked watching. He nearly went out for the X Factor, the same year as Harry and Niall, actually, but then he’d gotten the placement at Radio 1 and had decided that was more important. Liam went when he was fourteen, met Jade off Little Mix before she was famous, and for some reason won’t use that connection to help his career, the idiot. They found out once that they were both going to go the same year, which left Liam marvelling over fate and Louis reflecting that of course he got stuck with Liam anyway (for which Liam elbowed him in the ribs). 

They’re all quiet during the actual performances, but they talk after, chipping in their opinions while Nick laughs and refuses to tell them who makes it through and who doesn’t. He’s sitting on the floor a little way from Louis, and from the angle Louis’s sitting at, the open collar of his shirt creates a deep shadow against his throat. A hint of chest hair peeks out from the vee.

Arlo falls asleep by quarter to ten, face going slack and sweet as he sprawls out on his mum’s lap. Mairead excuses herself to take him home, kissing everyone on the cheeks as she goes. Nick claims her empty spot, stretching out with an exaggerated sigh and draping his arm along the back of the couch. Finchy makes a face as Nick pokes him in the neck and leans away. 

“Can you believe Finchy came out?” he asks Louis in an undertone. “Normally he refuses to associate with me! I think he’s only here because I told him Niall Horan would be here.”

“That is _not_ why I’m here,” Finchy hisses, and Louis has to stifle a laugh. He’s missed them, and from the way Nick is smiling at them, he feels the same. “You also said Louis was coming and I haven’t seen him in ages. He’s far better than you.”

“Oi,” Nick says lazily. “I know that you’re trying to make me mad, so I won’t hold it against you, but Louis is an untrained puppy and I am a master.”

Louis reaches over to pinch Nick’s nipple, grinning when Nick yelps and nearly slops wine over the both of them. “Watch it,” he says loftily. “Plenty more where that came from.”

Nick flicks a flirtatious look at him, mouth curving up in smirk. “Is that so?”

“Oi, shut it,” Harry says, smacking Louis knee. “Oh—sorry.”

“He deserves it,” Liam says. 

“I know where you sleep,” Louis reminds him. Liam twists around to grin up at him, the smug bastard. 

Louis excuses himself for a cigarette as the show is ending, stepping out onto Nick’s terrace and carefully holding Pig inside with his foot. She looks distinctly unhappy, and Louis can’t blame her, but Nick is in the midst of loudly arguing with Aimee over one of the people he gave a no to, and Louis can’t ask him if it’s okay to let her out. He leans against the wall after he lights up and kicks his feet out. It’s a gorgeous night, not too sticky with summer heat anymore, and Louis thinks idly that they could have a nice barbecue. He flicks ash from the end of his cigarette. 

“Those things’ll kill you,” says a slow voice from the door. Harry Styles slips out a moment later, arms wrapped around himself. “Eventually.”

“So I’ve heard.” Louis offers Harry a puff, but he shakes his head. “Suit yourself.”

“Grimmy was wondering where you went,” Harry says. “I told him I’d go look.”

“You’ve found me,” Louis says. “Congratulations.”

“Right.” Harry laughs and leans against the wall next to him. He’s really quite a pretty lad, when it comes down to it. Louis is surprised that Nick doesn’t seem interested. “I’m glad you came.”

Louis blinks at him and says, cautiously, “I am too.”

Harry nods as though Louis has said something profound and asks, seemingly at random, “Are you and Liam together?”

“What? No.” Louis frowns at him. “Why?”

“It’s nice that you and Grimmy are still mates,” Harry says, ignoring Louis’s question. “I like that. It’s nice.”

“Yeah, suppose.” Louis feels a little like he’s been dropped in the middle of a badly translated film. He knows all the words Harry is saying, but he isn’t sure what he means. “Hey, aren’t you going to go tell Nick you found me?”

“It’s funny you call him Nick,” Harry says. “Not a lot of people do.” He adjusts his jacket—it’s almost like a bomber jacket, but silky and embroidered—and holds out his hand. After a bemused second, Louis takes it and is treated to the most overwhelmingly earnest handshake of his life. 

“Um,” Louis says. “Hi?”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Louis from Doncaster,” Harry says. “Will you come inside? It’s nippy out here.”

“It’s still summer,” Louis protests, but he drops the cigarette and grinds it out before following Harry back into the flat. Harry flicks on the corridor lights, wandering in the direction of the toilet. Louis stops in front of a huge painting he hadn’t noticed on his way out, a misty-looking landscape with several figures off in the distance. It’s a bit ominous. Louis rather likes it. 

“It’s a Zayn Malik,” Harry says at his shoulder, like that should mean something to Louis. “Cost a bloody fortune, but it’s gorgeous, isn’t it?”

Louis doesn’t know much about art, but he has to admit it is rather pleasing to the eye, if utterly baffling. “You bought it for Nick?”

“Yeah, I never know what to get Grimmy, so I usually pick something up that reminds me of him.” Harry points at the neon _enjoy_ light in the lounge. “He’s nice enough to put them out instead of stashing them away like I bet he wants to.”

“Nick likes weird gifts,” Louis says, still examining the painting, his nose practically to the canvas. “Was this _spray-painted_?” 

There’s a brief, awkward pause before Harry says, “Yeah.”

“Harold, where on earth have you gone off to?” Nick calls, and a moment later he joins them in the corridor. “Ah, you got distracted by the inevitability of death.”

“What?” Louis cranes his neck and raises his eyebrows. “What are you talking about? We aren’t as old as _you_.”

“No, no. _The Inevitability of Death_. That’s what this painting is called.” Nick taps the side. “Harry named it.”

“Well, Zayn likes to let the owner name the painting, and since I _bought_ it,” Harry begins, looking mulish. 

Nick flaps his hand dismissively and drapes his arm over Louis’s shoulders. His breath smells like wine. “I think he was trying to make a point about how old I am.”

“And how old is that?” Louis asks sweetly. 

“Twenty-six,” Nick replies promptly. “Right, come on. Your mate’s falling asleep on Niall Horan and that won’t do.”

True to Nick’s word, Liam is slumping sideways into Niall’s lap, looking very tired indeed. Niall, for his part, seems completely unaffected, stroking Liam’s hair and beaming up at Finchy, who’s talking animatedly. Nick shoos Finchy off and crouches down to poke at Liam until he stirs, blinking sleepily. 

“You’d best get him home,” Nick says to Louis over his shoulder. “Want me to call you a cab?”

“No, it’s all right.” Louis kicks Liam’s foot until Liam grumbles and starts to pull himself upright. “Thank you for having us.”

Nick doesn’t straighten up, just keeps looking at Louis with that desperately fond look that bodes nothing good for either of them. “It was my pleasure. We’re having a Halloween do in a bit. You ought to come.”

“Text me the details,” Louis says, already trying to figure out if he can worm his way out before the time comes. It’s bound to be an incredible party—all of Nick’s dos are insane—but the longer he spends with Nick and his friends, the more restless he feels. All of them are doing things, comfortable and carefree. He bets they don’t count every penny like he does, trying to figure out how much he can send back to his mum this month. He bets they like their jobs, the bastards. 

“Of course.” Nick pulls Louis into a hug with his long spidery limbs, pressing his face into Louis’s hair. Louis stiffens up for a moment before hesitantly hugging back. Nick is incredibly bony and it’s a bit like hugging a coatrack, but he’s warm, and he smells like wine, and Louis has maybe, just maybe, missed him quite a bit. “Don’t be a stranger.”

“Thanks for having us,” Louis says. He steps back and takes Liam by the arm. “Come on, Payno, let’s get you to bed.” 

“I liked the one with the hair,” Liam says to Nick. “You should have let him on.” He yawns hugely and tilts sideways onto Louis. Louis rolls his eyes at Nick and waves before towing Liam out of the flat and heading home. 

 

As late summer turns into fall, Louis throws himself into work so he can save up to go home for Christmas and his birthday. He picks up a second job at a bookstore, bluffing his way in by talking about how much he loves Harry Potter, not letting on that he’s only seen the movies, and between that and the restaurant he’s working close to sixty hours a week. Liam thinks he’s mad, but Liam has classes anyway, and Louis needs the money. 

The bookstore is a pleasant change from the restaurant, since half the time he can escape into the shelves if someone is being annoying, and if he just messes with books and looks busy, no one asks him too many questions. But he’s on his feet all day at both, and by the time he comes home, all he wants is to have a drink and go to sleep while watching telly. 

“This is stupid,” Liam says when he comes home one day to find Louis sitting on the edge of the bathtub with his feet in cold water. “You’re running yourself ragged, you know. I can see your ribs these days. You have to eat more, get some more sleep.”

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” Louis says. “Let’s just be happy I haven’t been fired yet, all right? It’s a bloody miracle.”

“You haven’t even done anything to me for the last three weeks,” Liam says. “You haven’t stolen my shoelaces or hidden my hair product or _anything_.”

“That’s because I have something even better planned,” Louis lies. “Be on your guard, Payno.”

The day after that, he ends up moving around all of the clothes in Liam’s wardrobe and drawers just for form’s sake, but even he has to admit it’s pretty weak so far as pranks go. Afterward, he flops facedown onto his bed and groans loudly into the pillow before rolling over and picking up his battered laptop. Lottie answers his Skype call after a minute, her face slowly coming into focus. 

“Hey,” she says. “Let me go get Mum and everyone else, okay?”

Like every week, the call is total chaos as Louis’s mum and not-quite-step-dad try to wrangle the girls and the babies in and out of frame so Louis can say hello to all of them. Lottie tells him about her boyfriend, who Louis disapproves of on principle, and about how her classes are boring. Louis sympathises entirely, but he reminds her to pay attention so she doesn’t end up like him before Fizzy and then the twins come on to tell him about their schoolwork and primary school drama. 

His mum looks good when she finally gets the computer to herself; she’s been looking very happy lately, and Louis glad of it. “You look peaky, love,” she says after filling Louis in on everything the babies have been doing for the last week. Crying and shitting, mostly, apparently, although Doris can now pick up a block. “Make sure you get some rest, all right? I know you stress yourself out around the holidays and you don’t need to. The girls will be happy just to have you home, and so will I.”

“Mum,” Louis says, horrified by this show of sentimentality. 

“I’m serious, Louis,” she says. “You know I love you and that I’m so proud of you for working as hard as you do, but you’ve got to take some time to yourself.”

“I have plenty of fun,” Louis says. 

“Yes, I know,” she says. “Just, I worry that you took failing your A Levels so hard—”

“Ugh, Mum,” he complains. “We’ve been over this a hundred times.”

“I suppose we have. All right, I’ll let you off the hook for now. Give Liam our love.” She blows him a kiss, which Louis pretends to find dreadfully embarrassing before he returns it. 

“Love you,” he says quietly, which she echoes. They sign off without saying goodbye, something she had started when he first moved down to London for his internship. _It isn’t goodbye_ , she had said. _So we won’t say it._ A right sap, his mum. 

Liam comes home late that afternoon, having spent some extra time in the studio for his class. Louis is lying prone on the couch, watching one of his mum’s Sandra Bullock DVDs that he nicked off her last time he was home. Liam clucks his tongue and lifts Louis’s feet to sit. “Talk to your mum today?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, voice muffled by the cushion his face is smushed into. Liam starts rubbing Louis’s ankles, digging his thumbs into the arches of Louis’s feet. Louis groans happily and wiggles his toes. “My feet are disgusting, Liam.”

“I’ve known you for ages, Tommo, I’ve figured that out by now. But you had a long shift today, didn’t you?” Liam pats the back of his calf. “And we’ve got to go to the restaurant in a bit.”

“Don’t remind me,” Louis groans. “I fucking hate that place.”

Liam hums thoughtfully. “You’re too rough on yourself, Lou. Are you even going to have time to go home for Christmas?”

Louis has been avoiding thinking about that. He can theoretically afford to lose one of the jobs, but it’s so nice to look at his bank account and not feel the sinking panic of how he’s going to afford his rent or groceries. Asking for time off could be the kiss of death, unless he only goes up for the day, and that’s bound to be a nightmare. “Probably,” he says. “Don’t worry about it.”

“If you can’t make it up there, you can always come home with me,” Liam says. “Mum loves you, always has.”

“Ah, Karen,” Louis says. “What a lovely woman.”

“Oi, don’t talk about my mum like that.” Liam slaps Louis’s leg. “All right, get up. We should get ready for work.”

Louis sighs dramatically and rolls off the couch. “Fine,” he says. “Buy me a drink after work?”

“Course,” says Liam. Liam gets up and disappears into his room as Louis stretches out the kinks in his back. A moment later, he yelps, “Louis! What did you do to my clothes?”

Louis cackles and runs into his room, locking the door behind him just in case. 

 

The next time Louis hears from Nick is in October, when he rings while Louis's working at the bookshop. Louis swears when his phone starts trilling. He had meant to turn it off and then completely forgotten, of course, and he picks up to tell whoever it is to fuck off, but before he's gotten out more than, "Hello?" Nick is speaking

“How do you feel about coming to the Halloween do, then?” Nick asks. “You and Liam, bring him along.”

“What?” Louis ducks into the romance novel section so he’s out of sight of any passing managers. “Nick, I’m at work.”

“Sorry,” Nick says cheerfully. “I’ll make it quick. It’s at Scott’s on the Saturday, he told me I could invite some friends, so you and Liam should definitely come. Want me to text you the details?”

“Yeah, sure,” Louis says, staring at the shelf of Danielle Steele novels and trying to remember how many texts he has left on his plan this month. “Love a party, me.”

“I know,” Nick says. “Right, I’ll text you. Go back to work, love.” The phone goes dead before Louis has a chance to get in another word, and Louis hastily pockets his phone and pretends to be rearranging books as a couple of young women come down the aisle, giggling amongst themselves as they read the titles. 

Nick texts a few minutes later with the time and address. Louis stares at it for a while before deciding they may as well go. What's the worst that could happen? It's bound to be a right laugh. 

Liam disagrees. "There are going to be famous people there, Louis!" he moans, gripping at his hair overdramatically. "Proper famous people who I'd kill to work with. I can't let them see me off my face, they'll never take me seriously then."

"What makes you think they'll take you seriously even if they don't see you off your face?" Louis asks, quite reasonably in his opinion. Liam glares at him and flops down on the sofa. 

"Now I need to think of a proper costume and everything," Liam says. "This is rubbish. You couldn't have asked me before you said yes?"

"Don't you think you're being a bit overdramatic?" Louis asks, sitting down on Liam's legs. "It's just a party, Payno. Not a networking do."

"Whatever, you already have all the connections and you're not even using them," Liam grumbles. Louis tenses, feeling guilty for some reason. "I have to think of a proper costume now."

"Just go as sommat easy, we're going straight from the restaurant," Louis says, which is how, two weeks later, Louis and Liam arrive at Scott Mills's house dressed as an FBI agent and David Beckham, respectively. Liam had thought the FBI agent was a bit lame as they were English, but Louis had found the windbreaker on special at a charity shop and the aviators only cost two pounds. He thinks it's a rather good costume, all things considered. 

Louis has only met Scott in passing, but it turns out that doesn't matter much, as his place is packed to the gills already and there's no way of finding him even if they were making a decent effort, which they aren't. They get themselves drinks from the kitchen before wandering through the house, peeking in on the different rooms. Louis is trying very hard not to be overawed at the people there, but it's chock full of celebrities, from BBC DJs to pop stars to actors. Liam is staring open-mouthed, which is a bit embarrassing, and Louis decides to save both of them by dragging Liam into a room that is labelled KARAOKE.

"Time for you to show off, Payno," Louis says. "Chop chop."

The room is utterly packed, no shock there, and Harry Styles, dressed as Katniss Everdeen, is singing along to “Paint it Black.” To Louis's lack of surprise, Nick is already in there, half on top of his mate Aimee and talking loudly to Daisy Lowe, who is listening with no apparent interest. When he spots Louis, he clambers up, raising his arms to the sky in triumph, and yells, "Louis!"

"Alright mate, settle down," Louis says, letting Nick hug him. Louis actually isn’t sure what Nick’s costume was supposed to be—a rock star crying blood?—but he looks, well, really good, if a bit tipsy. "How much have you had to drink, Nicholas? You seem pissed already."

"I'll have you know I don't need alcohol to be cheerful, Louis," Nick says with great dignity. 

"He's had three cocktails," Daisy says. "Hi. Louis, right?"

"Hi, yes, this is Liam," Louis says, waving vaguely at Liam, who is watching Harry sing with a star-struck look in his eyes. "We won't have him back for ages."

Niall, who Louis thinks is meant to be whatshisname, Katniss's blond boyfriend, the one that isn't Liam Hemsworth, waves at Louis. "Good to see you again, mate!" he calls. "Come have a sit, won't you?" 

Louis squeezes in next to Niall, Nick settling in on his other side. Harry finishes up and takes a bow, hands pressed together in front of his chest like he's praying. They all applaud, a fit bloke Louis doesn't recognize contributing a wolf-whistle. Harry comes to sit on Niall, then moves when Niall complains about his gammy knee. 

"I'm not that heavy," Harry says, frowning at him. 

"Yeah, but you've got the boniest arse in the world," Niall says, tugging at the end of Harry's braid. "Oh—what's this? Liam's going to sing?"

Liam clearly jumped the queue a bit, but no one seems to mind as he calls up "Hotline Bling." Louis settles back, smirking, because he's the only one there who knows just how good Liam is. He always feel smug when Liam breaks out the skills in public. It's like watching a baby giraffe learn how to walk. 

"Holy shit," Nick says when Liam starts singing and bopping along to the beat. "He's really good, isn't he?"

"Should go professional, if you ask me," Louis says. "He says it's too much of a risk, the bloody coward."

"I'd put him through to judges' houses," Nick says. "Rita? Would you vote Liam through on X Factor?"

One of the two people in the bananas in pyjamas costumes says, "Oh yeah, babe!" and Louis belatedly realizes that it must be Rita Ora. Nick laughs, dropping his head onto Louis's shoulder. 

"Oh my god babe," he says in a godawful Rita impression. Rita reaches over to punch Nick in the shoulder, shouting that she doesn’t sound like that at all. 

Liam finishes singing to raucous applause and cheers. He beams at everyone, flushed and pleased, and flops down on the floor by Louis. "That was fun," he says brightly. "Louis, you should have a go."

"No one needs to hear my shitty voice," Louis says. "Nick, you ought to go. Surely you're learning something off your X Factor boys."

Aimee cackles loudly and says, "Fat chance of that." Nick pouts dramatically, kicking out his feet in her direction.

One of the girls Louis doesn't recognize gets up next, and Louis focuses on drinking his beer. It has been a long day, and he's happy to be there, even late as it is, but he's ready to crash any minute now. He's ashamed, really. He used to be the one partying straight through 'til morning. That was ages ago now, though, and he hasn't been able to be that person for what feels like a lifetime. 

When he finishes his beer, he weighs the appeal of more alcohol versus the undeniable allure of the couch and its soft cushions. Nick has abandoned him to sing a very terrible version of a Florence + the Machine song, and Liam is deep in conversation with Harry, making his Earnest Face as he gestures emphatically. Louis looks to Niall, says, "Fancy another beer?" and Niall says, "Oh, thank Christ," and gets up to follow him. 

Moving through the crowd is like trying to swim through quicksand, but they make it to the fridge eventually. Louis digs out two beers indiscriminately and lets Niall pick which one he wants before jerking his head toward the open door to the garden. Niall nods, and they head outside together. 

Though the weather was unseasonably warm for October, there weren't many other people out on the patio aside from a couple of people smoking near the garden wall. Louis takes a seat at the edge of the patio, where it turned to grass, and popped the top off his beer. Niall dropped down beside him and took a long pull of his own beer before asking, "So who are you supposed to be?"

"I'm an FBI agent, aren't I," Louis says. "What, can't you read?"

"Oi," Niall says comfortably. "Nah, I just mean are you anyone specific?"

"Could be Paul Walker in the Fast & Furious movies," Louis says thoughtfully. "I like him. Though I guess he's only FBI in a couple of them."

"Think so," Niall says. "You know, when Liam walked in for a minute I thought he _was_ David Beckham."

Louis laughs. "He'll love that. What about you, who came up with this?" He gesture to Niall's costume, which looks like a baker's outfit, complete with apron. He supposes that's part of the character, but when Niall's away from Harry, it looks a bit naff.

"Harry's idea, of course," Niall says. "My mate Bressie—he's our bassist—he's the other one, the tall one, but he doesn't like parties like this much so he's already off." 

"Should have gotten here sooner," Louis says. “Would like to have met him properly.”

"Yeah, what kept you?" comes Nick's voice from behind them. They both twist around as Nick comes to join them, an unlit cigarette dangling from his fingers. "You took ages."

"Some of us have real jobs, Nicholas," Louis says, poking at Nick's knee through the hole in his jeans. "Sorry we can't all be high-flying social butterflies like you."

"I'll have you know I have at least three—four?—jobs," Nick says haughtily. 

Louis and Nick bicker amicably about Nick's "jobs," Louis insisting that even if Nick has that many, all he does at most of them is run his mouth, "which you would do anyway, don't lie." At some point, Niall leaves them to re-join the party, and then it's just the two of them, Louis with his now-empty beer and Nick with his still unlit cigarette. Louis sets the bottle aside and gestures to it. 

"What's that?" Nick asks, breaking off in the middle of a story about something Simon Cowell had done at X Factor earlier. "Use your words, Tomlinson."

"If you aren't going to smoke that, give it here," Louis says. 

Nick considers the cigarette for a moment before saying, "We can split it. I've not got another, I took this one off someone as it is." 

Nick lights the cigarette, finally, and they pass it back and forth for a while, not talking. Finally, Nick exhales a cloud of smoke and glances over at Louis with that guarded expression of his, the one he wears when he's trying to figure something out. "So where have you been the last few years, really?" he asks, stretching his legs out. "Are you at uni?" 

"Nah," Louis says lightly. "Didn't get in anywhere." 

"Come off it," Nick says in disbelief. "You're clever, how did that happen?"

"You know I failed my A levels, right?" Louis says. "You must have seen my CV."

"Glanced at it," Nick says. "But who cares about that for radio? You can talk, and you like music. That's what matters."

"Well, turns out they care about that at uni," Louis says. “Anyway, I never retook them. Didn’t have the time. Whatever, it’s all stupid anyway."

"I failed out after two years, so no disagreement from me," Nick says. "But if you aren't at uni, what are you doing?"

"What you've seen," Louis says as casually as he can. "I work at the restaurant most nights, and during the day I work at a bookstore. Really impressive, huh?"

Nick frowns, holding the cigarette out to him. "Is that what you want to do?"

"It's what there is," Louis says. He takes a drag, blows the smoke into Nick's face, and then lies back to gaze up at the sky. "I know what I'm good for, and I've found it."

"Louis," Nick says, then stops. He's quiet for a bit before saying, "I'm not your boss anymore, so this is me as your friend. You're dead clever, and you'd be brilliant at anything you really set your mind to."

Louis personally thinks that's bollocks, as he's set his mind to plenty of things and had them blow up in his face—music, numerous relationships, half a dozen jobs—and if Nick is speaking as a friend, well, then he's biased. "Sure," he says. He wriggles around to get settled. The patio isn't particularly comfortable, but Louis isn't inclined to go inside, among all the successful and beautiful people that Nick knows. He kicks out his legs, toes bumping against Nick's calf, and laughs.

"What?" Nick asks. 

"I never thought I'd have this again," he says. "I went back to Doncaster and I thought that was it, you know. I reckoned I’d stay there forever after that."

"I'm glad you didn’t," Nick says. Louis startles at the feeling of Nick's cold fingers against his wrist. "You're too brilliant to stay hidden up north."

"The north is brilliant," Louis says. "You're from the north."

"Yes," Nick agrees, laughing. "But down here you can be the star you should be."

"You make no fucking sense, has anyone ever told you that?" 

"Nearly every day," Nick says. He twists around, leaning on one arm, and looks down at Louis. The light from inside the house illuminates him from behind, turning his hair into a strange, quiffy-halo. "Hey."

Louis stares up at Nick. He's suddenly aware of Nick's fingers pressing lightly to his wrist, the warmth of Nick's thigh against his. They're close enough that Louis can feel his breath. He's—he’s— 

"Yeah?" he asks, voice rasping out unusually low. Nick reaches out and presses his hand to Louis's chest. His hand is so huge, God, it spans from Louis's collar to his sternum. Louis inhales sharply.

Nick moves slowly, as if waiting for Louis to move away. But Louis is paralyzed by sudden, desperate need, and by longing, and he can't—won't—move. Nick pauses a hair's breadth away, breath hot against Louis's cheek, and Louis's stomach is twisting into knots. He tilts his face up a tiny bit, a confession, and then it's so easy to close the remaining distance between them, so easy Louis wonders at it never happening before. They kiss lightly at first; both of them are shaking. Nick’s hand is unsteady against his chest, and Louis is breathing fast, not daring to move, afraid that if he does Nick will change his mind. 

“Louis,” Nick murmurs against Louis’s mouth. “Is this—?”

“Yes,” Louis says, and he tugs Nick down by his shirt until Nick is sprawled over him, pinning him to the patio. The party seems very distant now; the music is still playing, and people are talking, loud and boisterous, but Louis’s world has narrowed down to the slick pleasure of Nick’s tongue against his, the stale taste of vodka on his breath, the soft sighs Nick lets out when they break for air. Nick’s hand circles around his wrist, not tight, but secure. It feels like a promise.

Louis doesn’t know how long they lay there, his back pressed uncomfortably into the patio and Nick slowly rocking against him. Nick is hard; Louis can feel him against his hip. Nick presses his thigh between Louis’s legs, and Louis arches up into it, wrapping his arm around Nick’s neck to keep him close. Why hadn’t he realized that he wanted this, he wonders, dizzy with the headiness of being wanted, being wanted by _Nick_ , who has had gorgeous models and celebrities on his arm. Nick wants _him_. 

Louis distantly hears the sound of footsteps, then a soft, “Oh!” before the footsteps hurriedly retreat. Louis breaks away from Nick and tries to see who it is, but Nick is turning his face back, whispering, “Don’t mind them, they’ll let us alone.”

“We’re lying on a patio,” Louis points out. He moves his hand to rest against the column of Nick’s throat, his thumb tracing from his jaw to his collar. Nick is flushed, mouth sinfully red and wet, and this close Louis can see his fading freckles from the summer. He wants to trace them, wants to make a map of Nick’s body for himself. “Shouldn’t we go someplace better? Or at least more comfortable?”

“Scott’ll have my head if we shag in one of his bedrooms,” Nick says, ducking his head to mouth at Louis’s neck. Louis shivers. “We could go to mine.”

The idea isn’t unappealing. Louis is hard now, and Nick is so warm and smells delicious, and Louis desperately wants to get his hands on him. “Yeah,” he says. He presses his thumb to Nick’s pulse, watches as Nick tilts his head back slightly, gazing at Louis from beneath his lashes. “I’d like that.”

Louis doesn’t think about letting Liam know he’s left until five minutes into the Uber ride, when Nick’s hand is tracing up the inseam of his jeans. His hands are so big; they could take Louis apart as easy as anything. Louis swallows hard and digs out his phone to send Liam a quick text before taking Nick’s hand in his and lacing their fingers together. Nick flashes him a smile, and Louis shivers pleasantly with anticipation. 

Once at Nick’s flat, Nick shoos Pig into the spare room before pinning Louis against the wall, hands to either side of his head and kissing him until Louis feels as though he’s melting. Nick’s thigh is hard and thick between his legs, and Louis feels dirty like this even though they’re in private, because Nick is swallowing down his desperate whines, and with every rock of Nick’s hips, he shakes with need. 

“Fuck,” Nick says against Louis’s mouth. “God, you’re incredible.”

“Don’t need to sweet talk me,” Louis says breathlessly. “You’ve already got me back at yours. I’m dead easy, anyway.”

“No you aren’t,” Nick says. His expression, when he pulls back, is something like fondness mixed with sorrow, or pity. Louis doesn’t want to look at that, so he kisses Nick again, fisting his hands in his ridiculous hair and grinding up against him. 

They make it into the bedroom eventually, though by that point they’ve both lost most of their costumes. Louis’s going to be doing the Halloween walk of shame come morning. At least he knows he won’t be the only one. Louis is down to his pants, Nick to his jeans, and when they get onto the bed, Nick has to sit back to squirm out of them. 

“Regretting women’s jeans now?” Louis teases, rubbing his fingers over the trail of hair below Nick’s belly button. 

“I’ve seen the jeans you wear, you tart,” Nick says, grinning at him. “Like you’ve any room to talk.”

“Well, they make my arse look magnificent,” Louis says. “I’ve got to flaunt my assets.”

“It’s true,” Nick agrees. He finally manages to shimmy out of his jeans and he flings them in the direction of his closet. “All right,” he says, and he runs his hands up Louis’s bare legs. Louis lets his knees fall apart feeling exposed and desperate as Nick looks him over with an almost proprietary expression. Nick contemplates him for a moment, then lays his hand over the bulge of Louis’s cock. Louis tries very hard not to buck up into the touch, but he’s fairly sure he doesn’t succeed. 

“What do you want, love?” Nick asks, rubbing his thumb along the hard line of Louis’s dick like an utter bastard. Louis would tell him as much if he could get his mouth to work. “What do you fancy?”

Louis considers his options, hands slowly wrinkling Nick’s duvet as he clenches it in his fists, and decides, “I want you to fuck me, if you’d like.”

“Brilliant,” Nick says, lighting up. “I’m dead good at that.”

“Oh, whatever.” Louis rolls his eyes. “Bloody show-off, aren’t you.”

“Yep.” Nick leans over Louis to get to the night stand, produces a condom and lube, drops them on the duvet next to Louis, and then hooks his fingers into Louis’s pants. “Time to take these off, love.”

“You’re going proper northern,” Louis observes to keep himself from saying something idiotic like _God, you’re attractive_. “Does that get you a lot of boys?”

“Got you, didn’t it? Come on now.” Louis lifts his hips so Nick can pull down his pants, which get tossed in the same direction as Nick’s jeans, and a moment later Nick is squeezing Louis’s cock in his huge hand. Louis bites the inside of his cheek to keep from making an undignified sound. It’s been far, far too long since he’s had enough time to have sex. And he knows Nick knows what he’s doing. Best decision of recent months, this. 

Nick takes his sweet time opening Louis up. When Louis protests that this is hardly his first time, he’s no blushing virgin, Nick rolls his eyes and says, “Has it occurred to you maybe I enjoy this? Now hush,” and then he nudges Louis’s prostate and Louis moans so loud he genuinely worries about upsetting Pig. He forgets about that when Nick finally gets his cock out, because _damn_ , it’s impressive. Louis’s heard stories, of course—it’s impossible to be friends with Nick’s friends and _not_ hear stories—but his cock really is rather magnificent in person. Louis would quite like to get his mouth on it. 

Later, though, he resolves as Nick rolls on a condom. Right now he’s got priorities. He starts to shift over onto his hands and knees, but Nick stops him and says, “No—I’d like to see your face, if that’s all right.”

Louis isn’t sure what to say to that, but Nick seems genuine, and he’s relatively sure it isn’t to mock his expressions. “All right,” he says, more softly than he means, and he lays back down. 

This close, Nick’s face is very intense. He’s got mad eyelashes, Louis observes idiotically as Nick kneels between his legs. And freckles; he’s got a bit of freckles. Louis reaches up to trace them, laughing when Nick wrinkles his nose, and then a moment later Nick is hoisting Louis’s legs up over his hips and Louis’s breath leaves him in a sharp gasp. 

He always forgets how overwhelming it is to be fucked; overwhelming in a good way. If he’d been a slightly different person—if he had gone to uni, perhaps—he would have been a proper slag, no doubt about it, because nothing takes him out of his head like getting fucked. His mind, usually going a hundred miles a minute, slows down—stills—and all he focuses on is the sharp thrust of a cock inside him. 

Time seems to slow down, or maybe he just loses track of it entirely, because it seem like forever before he’s coming, but it can’t have been that long. Nick is gasping above him, and it’s just on the edge of too much as he fucks Louis through his orgasm, but oh, god, is it perfect, too. 

Nick comes with a startle grunt, one that Louis might make fun of if he ever regains the ability to speak, and collapses forward onto Louis for a bit without pulling out. Louis is too blissed out to complain, even though Nick is rather bony and heavy. Finally Nick rolls off him, pulls off the condom, and drops it in the rubbish bin by his bed. 

“Wow,” Nick says after a moment. “You’ve been holding out on me, Tomlinson.”

“Have I?” Louis asks. “You mean back when I was an intern?”

“I suppose that may have been unethical,” Nick says. He tugs Louis in close and says, “Stay the night?”

Louis had been planning on that anyway, but he doesn’t say as much, just nods and lets Nick cuddle him. At some point he’s going to need a shower, but that’s for later. For now, he’s feeling warm and contented and relaxed for what feels like the first time in months. He can worry about tomorrow when it arrives. 

 

Nick wakes obscenely early in the morning, no doubt out of habit. Louis groans when Nick jostles him on his way out of bed. “Sorry,” Nick whispers. 

“Arsehole,” Louis mumbles into the pillow. 

He lays there, drifting between wakefulness and sleep, until Nick returns, cold from the outdoors and pink-cheeked. He kisses Louis gently, smiles when Louis tries to whack him with a pillow, and asks, “Tea?”

“Yeah,” Louis says. He rubs at his face and sits up with a groan. He shouldn’t have stayed the night. He’s got to get home so he can go to work. 

He takes a quick shower, pulls on his abandoned costume, and joins Nick in the kitchen for toast and jam with tea. Nick is drinking coffee, black, and Louis wrinkles his nose at it. 

“You look like an angry cat when you do that,” Nick says. 

“I do not,” Louis says, offended. He chomps down on his toast, spraying crumbs everywhere, and asks through a full mouth, “Where’s Pig?”

As if summoned by her name, Pig trots out of the spare room and makes for the bowl of dog food by the counter. Louis crouches down to pet her, only partially to avoid Nick’s eyes. She licks his face in greeting before burying her face in her food. A wise woman, Pig. 

“I’ve got to go soon,” Louis says, straightening up. He gulps down some of his tea, wincing at the heat. “I’ve got work later.”

“Want me to call you a car?” Nick asks, already pulling out his phone. “Uber or sommat?”

“I can take public transport,” Louis says. “It’s what we ordinary folk do, Grimshaw.”

Nick snorts and says, “Suit yourself.” He’s got a shirt on now, but only wearing his pants. Louis wishes he had time to suck him off; it would be a nice wake-up call. 

“Right,” Louis says, because if he dwells on that any more he’ll start wondering about _what if this could be more_ or _what does Nick want from him_ and that way lies madness. He can’t go about getting his hopes up. He knows better. “I’m off. Thanks for having me round.”

“Thanks for letting me have you,” Nick says, mouth quirking up. He leans in and pecks Louis on the mouth. “I’ll call.”

“I have limited minutes,” Louis reminds him. “I’ll call.”

He won’t, but Nick doesn’t need to know that. Nick sees him out, and Louis books it to the bus to get himself back home. When he arrives, Liam is nowhere to be seen, not in his room either. Louis plugs in his phone to find a text from Liam saying, _Went home with someone :)._ Louis is so proud. His little boy is all grown up.

He arrives at the bookstore for work a whole ten minutes early, a new record, and lets himself get drawn into taking inventory. It’s better than thinking about Nick and the incomprehensible decision to go to bed with him. Better than thinking about the way Nick had looked at him fondly, like he was special, and better than thinking about what Nick would think if he really knew how sad and pathetic Louis’s life is. Nick seems to think Louis is someone spectacular, but Louis knows the truth. He is ordinary, and a failure, and if he can just help his sisters do better than he did, he’ll consider that a success. 

 

Louis doesn’t call Nick. After a week with no texts or calls, he’s confident that Nick isn’t going to contact him again either. It’s for the best, really. Louis doesn’t want or need reminders of the life he could have had, and this way he saves himself the inevitable heartbreak down the line. He _may_ be a little disappointed that Nick didn’t call, but he squashes that feeling down.

Then on Sunday, while he’s working at the restaurant, he gets paged up to the hostess’s desk. He goes, asks her what’s up, and is treated to an awkward smile.

“Um,” says the hostess, whose name Louis can’t remember, “there’s someone asking for you specifically. He’s in section nine, table two.”

“Right,” Louis says. He straightens his shirt, wondering who it could possibly be, and heads over with a smile. He realizes who it is a moment later by the shape of the hair, and he’s scowling by the time he circles around to find Nick pretending to survey the menu. 

“What do you want?” he asks. 

"You drive me mental, you know that?" Nick says without preamble, lowering his menu. "Every time I think I understand you, you do something that completely baffles me." 

“That’s how I like it,” Louis says, crossing his arms. “I’m mysterious.”

“You’re a twat,” Nick says. “That’s the second bloody time you’ve disappeared on me, and I’m not having it anymore.”

“Did you just come here to insult me?” Louis snaps, his face heating. Nick is being ridiculously loud, as usual, and Louis sincerely hopes no one is watching them. “Because I do actually have a job.”

“I came here to ask why you haven’t called,” Nick says, finally lowering his voice. He runs a shaking hand through his hair, and Louis abruptly realizes that Nick is _nervous_. “If it was bad, or if you didn’t like it—that’s fine. I just wanted to know.”

“Of course I—I’m not talking about this here,” Louis hisses, carefully shifting so no one can get a look at his table. “This isn’t the place to talk about our little, you know, booty call.”

“Is that what it was for you?” Nick asks. “It wasn’t just a whim, you know. I’ve fancied you rotten for ages.”

“You haven’t seen me in five years,” Louis says for lack of anything better to say. He doesn’t know how to process that. He can’t even begin to understand what Nick is saying. Ages? How is that even possible?

“I fancied you back when you worked at Radio 1,” Nick says, shrugging. “But like I said. Probably unethical to ask you for a shag back then.”

“You didn’t say anything,” Louis says quietly, leaning on the back of the chair opposite. Nick’s gaze drops to his phone, sitting on the table with the screen turned down, and Louis just knows he’s itching to pick it up and pretend that he’s gotten a text or a tweet, but he doesn’t. “Why are you here?”

“I understand if I’m not all that attractive to you,” Nick says, not looking up. “I’m nearly ten years older than you—”

“Seven years,” Louis corrects.

“—and I’m annoying and I’ve got a short attention span, and you’ve probably got your pick of lads,” Nick says, “but I’d like to do it again sometime, if you’re interested. I’d quite like shagging you regularly.”

Louis chances a look around for his manager, then takes the seat across from Nick. “I work nearly all the time,” he says. “And I’m not anything special.”

“You’re wrong about that,” Nick says. “Like I said, I’ve got a short attention span, but I haven’t stopped thinking about you for five years.” He smiles self-deprecatingly, that little half-smile that Louis knows so well. “I was really sad that you didn’t call.”

“I’m not what you think,” Louis says, needing Nick to back out now, needing him to decide Louis isn’t worth it, because otherwise Louis doesn’t know how he’ll be able to say no. “I work nearly every day of the week, Nick, I’m barely making it work. You don’t have time for that.”

“Don’t tell me what I have time for,” Nick says, frowning. “I know that—that you’re busy—”

“That I’m poor,” Louis says flatly. “That’s what you mean.”

“No—well, yes, but that’s not the point,” Nick says. “I’ve been broke too. I know all of that, and if you have any time you could spare for me, well. I’d take it, is all I’m saying.”

Louis presses his hand to his sternum, as if he might be able to slow his frantic breaths. He’s so full of spinning thoughts that he’s likely to burst, but the one thing breaking through the storm inside his head is, _You had fun with him, didn’t you?_

Of course he had. Nick is fun, and the sex was good, and maybe if he were someone else that would be fine. But Louis _likes_ Nick, even admires and respects him a bit, although he’d never admit as much to him. Nothing good comes of mixing friends and sex. Then again, it isn’t as though losing Nick would change his life that much, would it? And yet—Louis can’t stand the thought of Nick waking up one day and realizing that he’s been wasting his time. If he’s going to have Nick at all, it’ll be as a friend or nothing. He can’t have everything and see it taken away. 

He realizes Nick is still waiting for him to answer. “I can’t,” he says, wanting desperately to say _yes, yes please_. “I just don’t think I can, Nick.”

Nick’s face falls, and Louis’s his resolve wavers. “If you’re sure.”

Despite his brain shouting at his mouth to _shut the fuck up_ , he finds himself saying, “I’ll—talk to me in the new year and maybe. Maybe.” Maybe by then he’ll grow a sense of self-preservation and be able to say no properly.

Nick lights up like bloody Kanye West has walked into the room. “Really? You mean it?” Louis nods, hating himself for being weak, and Nick holds out his hand. “Shake on it?”

Louis hesitates before laying his hand in Nick’s. He feels small and delicate as Nick’s long fingers curl around him, squeezing tight. “This isn’t shaking hands,” he says after a moment.

“No,” Nick agrees, smiling mischievously. “I just wanted an excuse to hold your hand.”

Louis groans and tugs his hand away. “You’re a menace,” he informs Nick. “I’ve got to get back to work. Are you going to order anything?”

“Bring me a glass of the house red and—” Nick glances cursorily over the menu. “The soup of the day.”

“It’s split pea,” Louis says, which isn’t actually true, it’s tomato bisque, but he’s feeling like he needs to take Nick down a peg or two. 

“Oh, rubbish,” Nick says. “What’s good?”

“The rib eye,” Louis says. 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Nick makes a face at him. “I can’t afford that, love, not on a government salary. How about the caprese salad or sommat?”

“Fine.” Louis gets to his feet and lingers for a moment. “I’ll think about it. I promise.”

Nick beams up at him. “Brilliant. And _garçon_ , I’d like my water to be exactly ten degrees C.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Louis says, and he goes off to put in Nick’s order. 

 

Nick has to leave before Louis’s shift is over, but he does lure Louis out for a cheeky kiss by the coat room, well out of sight of both employees and patrons as well as any potential lurking paparazzi. “Wish I could stay, love,” he says when he pulls back. “Duty calls and all that rubbish.”

“Don’t come back here while I’m working,” Louis says, but he can’t stop smiling for the rest the evening, which has the unintended effect of making his tips go up. He feels like an absolute tit when he realizes, because this is all just a stupid pipe dream. It isn’t actually going to happen, not in the end. He has to stop letting himself think it will. 

When his shift ends, Liam beckons him over, beaming wildly, and just grins at him until Louis groans and asks, “What?”

“I saw him,” Liam says. “Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. Nick Grimshaw came here for you.”

“Yeah, so what?” Louis asks. “We went to his flat a month ago.”

“You _like_ him,” Liam says smugly. “You bloody liar, you said you didn’t care if he fancied you. Is that where you went on Halloween?”

“A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell, Liam,” Louis says. 

“Mm hm.” Liam tries to wink, which he really should stop doing as he’s rubbish at it. “If you ever need the flat for some alone time—”

“Bye, Liam,” Louis says loudly, and he flounces to the back to clock out.

He’s on his way out when the evening manager Tim stops him, saying, “I need to talk to you about the December schedule.”

“Sure,” Louis says, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets. “What’s up?”

“Jenny just told me she’s got a plane ticket out to see her parents in Calais,” Tim says. He’s just approaching late-thirties, but he always acts as though he’s a thousand years older than the servers. It’s rather trying, so Louis avoids him as much as possible, except when he has to talk to him about shift schedules. “You’re good for working Christmas Eve, right?”

“We agreed I’d get Christmas Eve off,” Louis says, stomach jolting in unpleasant surprise. “I talked with you about that in _August_.”

“You can’t just get it off,” Tim says, frowning down his nose at Louis. He’s got about two inches on Louis and always, _always_ makes sure Louis remembers that. “We need people, and everyone’s already taken off. What is it with you kids, you all think you can just go. Someone has to work.”

“I told you I needed it off _three months ago_ ,” Louis says, clenching his hands inside his hoodie and keeping his voice as even as he can. “It’s my bloody birthday, and I’m not spending it here.”

“I don’t have anything noted down,” Tim says. He looks at his iPad and clicks his tongue disapprovingly. Louis has fantasized on more than one occasion about ripping out his tongue when he does that. “Are you sure you talked to me about it?”

“Dead sure,” Louis says, wishing he’d thought to check that Tim had written it down. “We were in the back office and you promised me it wouldn’t be an issue.”

“If you say so,” Tim says, tone making it very clear that he doesn’t believe Louis in the slightest. “There’s nothing I can do about it now, unfortunately. I’ve got you penned in. If you don’t work, we’ll be short.”

Louis takes a deep breath, biting back the urge to raise his voice. “Then can I get New Year’s Eve off at least?” Louis asks. “I think I deserve that.”

“I’ll pencil it in,” Tim says, jotting it down in his iPad. Louis sighs, but decides to leave it alone for now. He’ll remind Tim about his promise in December. For now he’s got to get home and break the bad news to his mum. 

He hasn’t missed his birthday at home his entire life, and he had been looking forward to seeing his sisters and especially the babies. They’re so young. He’s afraid they’ll grow up not knowing who he is, with him in London and them up in Doncaster, and him only visiting a few times a year. And he knows his mum will be disappointed, which is why he puts off Skyping her until rather late that night. He texts her first to let her know he’ll be calling, and then huddles in the corner of his bed with his laptop on his knees, his hood pulled up. 

It takes a couple of rings for her to answer, but then there she is, lovely as always, and for a moment Louis’s chest aches with homesickness. He takes a breath to chase it away and says, “Hey, Mum.”

“Hi, love,” she says, beaming. “What’s got you calling, then?”

“I’ve got bad news, I’m afraid,” he says, and he winces as her face falls. It’s the worst feeling in the world, seeing his mum be sad. “My manager—I thought we’d worked it out, but he forgot, I guess. I’ll be able to come home for New Year’s, he says, but we need people to work on Christmas Eve.”

“Oh, Louis,” his mum says, and bugger, she’s tearing up. “Oh, love, that’s rubbish. Absolute rubbish. You ought to give him a good talking-to.”

“I did,” Louis says. “I’m getting New Year’s off, I have to. I’ll make him promise.” 

“I’m sorry, love,” his mum says, shaking her head. “I know you were looking forward to coming home. We’ll open your gifts when you come up for New Year’s, how about that? And we’ll call you on your birthday. Oh—” She wipes at her eyes and sniffs. 

“Mum,” Louis says uselessly. “Please don’t blub.”

“I suppose I ought to get used to you being away now that you’re grown,” his mum says. “It just seemed to happen so fast.”

For his part, Louis hates the idea of spending his birthday alone in his flat after working his arse off, but he puts on a smile and says, “We’ll just make up for it at New Year, yeah?” 

“All right, love.” His mum blows him a kiss. “Take care, please.”

“Course. I’m always great, aren’t I?” Louis beams at her, but the moment they hang up, his smile fades. Louis rubs his eyes, shuts his computer, and curls up around it on his bed. The heat of the battery is pleasant against his chest, and despite his intention to get up and change into pyjamas, he falls asleep like that. 

 

The next few weeks are awful and miserable. The holidays are stressful as it is, and he doesn’t even have the prospect of heading home to make himself feel better. Liam offers to let him tag along with him to Wolverhampton, but as nice as the offer is, that sounds equally miserable, spending time with someone else’s family and just being reminded of what he’s missing. 

In the little free time he has between jobs, Louis takes to watching X Factor and listening to the Breakfast Show, keeping the volume on low so Liam doesn’t hear and come barrelling into his room to tease him. It’s stupid, but Louis had forgotten how much he missed Nick, and having the promise of seeing him more has only reawakened his teenaged obsession. He greedily hoards away every bit of information Nick reveals: that he’s going away for the holidays, that he hasn’t done his holiday shopping, that he finds being in a relationship during Christmas to be extremely stressful. New pieces to add to the puzzle that is Nick. 

Liam leaves for home on the eighteenth, hugging Louis tightly and saying, “If you change your mind and want to come up on Christmas day, we’d love to have you, you know.”

“I’ll be all right,” Louis lies. “I’ll have someone round, maybe.”

Liam looks dubious, but is kind enough not to say so. He scurries out the door after leaving Louis’s birthday present on the counter, admonishing him, “Don’t open it until your birthday, I _mean_ it.” So of course the moment Louis sees Liam get in the cab, he tears off the paper and opens the box. Inside are a pair of brand new pair of Vans, and a little note from Liam saying, _I noticed yours have a hole in the toe, so I thought you might like a new pair! I have the receipt if you don’t! You should have waited until your birthday. xx Liam_

They’re dark red, Louis’s favourite colour, and when he slips them on, they fit perfectly. Liam’s such a bastard. There’s no way Louis will be able to top this for Liam’s birthday next year. Louis scowls at his toes, then slips the shoes off and puts them away to save until spring. No point in wearing them ragged now. 

Louis goes into the restaurant on Wednesday feeling a little out of sorts. He isn’t used to having a quiet flat, too accustomed to Liam’s near-constant singing and humming, and without Liam he’s a bit of a mess. Not that Liam is all that domestic—he’s messier than Louis most days, and neither of them can cook much—but without Liam around Louis doesn’t _have_ to put away his coat or his shoes. He can sit on the couch and make a mess while watching telly. Liam’s been gone for a few days now, and the flat looks distinctly worse for wear, and Louis is sure he’s going slightly mad from the quiet. 

So it takes him a moment to notice that there’s something weird going on with the next week’s schedule that’s tacked up in the back. Louis looks again when he registers the filled-in block representing his hours, and sees that, despite his very specific discussion with Tim, he is scheduled all through the next week. He squeezes his hands into fists, takes a deep breath, and calls, “Tim?”

Tim pokes his head out of his office, frowning. His hair is all over the place, like he’s been running his hands through it, and Louis might feel bad for how stressed he is if he weren’t so annoyed. “What is it, Louis?” Tim asks brusquely. 

“You’ve got me scheduled next week on New Year’s Eve,” Louis says. “And New Year’s Day.”

“Yes,” Tim says slowly, like he thinks Louis is an idiot. “As you can see, Ellen’s out of town on New Year’s Eve, so I need you to work.”

“No,” Louis says without pausing thinking about it. 

Tim’s frown deepens, and a muscle in his jaw twitches. “Excuse me?”

Louis clenches his hands into fists and forces himself to speak politely, though it strains every inch of his patience and he can feel his eye twitching. “We agreed that since you forgot about your promise I could have Christmas Eve off, I’d have New Year’s instead.”

“Did we?” Tim asks. “Well, it doesn’t matter. We need you, and that’s what you agreed to when you started working here. Do you know how many people would like this job?”

Louis stares at him in disbelief. “I’ve not had a day off since I started working here,” he says. “I’ve covered other people’s shifts. All I asked was for my birthday off, and then when you cocked that up, for New Year’s. Are you joking?”

Tim reddens. “Now look here, Louis, we can talk about your time off in after the new year—”

“Fuck that!” Louis bursts out. “You let bloody everyone else leave and I have to work when I asked you months ago? What kind of fucked up system is that?”

“Watch your tone, Louis,” Tim says sharply, knuckles going white on the doorframe. “I’m sorry for the mistake, but if you keep that up, I’m going to have to fire you.”

“Fuck you, I quit,” Louis says, ripping off his apron and tossing it to the ground. “This isn’t worth it.”

“You can’t quit, we need you!” Tim yelps indignantly. “Tomlinson—”

“Too late, I’ve already quit,” Louis says, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Where’s the exit paperwork, mate?”

He returns home absolutely buoyant. He isn’t scheduled to work at the bookshop until the twenty-seventh, and if he gets a ticket he can surprise his family. It isn’t until he’s on the couch eating crisps that he faces the realization that come the next month he’s definitely going to regretting the second source of income. But he’ll burn that bridge when he comes to it. For now, he’s going to enjoy his freedom and have a happy fucking birthday. 

The next day, he bundles up his things and takes the train up to Doncaster. He calls his best mate from secondary to drive him home, and arrives a little after two in the afternoon, laden down with his bags and utterly ready to forget about his brief moment of insanity with the glowing light of his family. It takes a few rings of the doorbell for him to hear any response from inside the house, but then he hears Fizzy’s voice yell, “I’ve got it!” and the thunder of feet running to the door. There’s a brief pause and then she flings open the door, wide-eyed and in absolute disarray.

“Merry Christmas,” Louis says cheerfully. 

Fizzy gapes at him for long enough that he starts to worry that he’s short-circuited her brain, but then she punches him in the shoulder and says, “You utter _wanker_! Mum was in bits that you couldn’t come home! What was all that about?”

“I really couldn’t,” Louis protests, but his words are muffled as she yanks him into a hug. He spits out the mouthful of hair and repeats, “I couldn’t, I just quit that job now is all.”

“What? Oh, never mind, you’ll tell us later. Daisy! Phoebe! Guess who it is?” Fizzy hollers, not bothering to step back. Louis mutters, “Loud, aren’t you,” and then says, “Ouch!” when she punches him again. 

A moment later, Daisy appears, looking suspicious. “We know Santa isn’t real, you know,” Daisy says. 

“I’m better than Santa,” Louis says, stepping out from behind Fizzy. Daisy’s eyes widen and she flings her arms up in the air.

“Louis!” she bellows, barrelling down the hall and throwing herself at him. He catches her and lifts her up, beaming so wide his cheeks hurt. “Mum said you weren’t going to be home this year!”

“I got a ticket last minute,” he says, kissing her cheek. “Are you surprised?”

“Best Christmas present ever,” Daisy says firmly, wiggling out of his arms and dropping to the floor. “Lottie is going to be so mad, she thought she got to be the eldest this year. She’s been so bossy.”

“Nope, I’m still the boss.” Louis shoulders his bag and says, “Why don’t you get Mum while I drop off my things?”

When Louis returns downstairs, he finds the entire family, including his mum’s boyfriend Daniel, waiting for him. He pauses on the last step, says, “Hi,” and tries very hard not to feel like he’s sixteen again as his entire family stares at him in silence, his sisters all clearly struggling to repress their giggles.

His mum is the first to crack, eyes going teary as she raises her hand to her mouth and says, “Oh, Louis.”

“Mum,” he says in dismay, hurrying over to her and pulling her into his arms. She squeezes him so tight he has to squawk in protest, saying, “You’re gonna break me ribs, Mum!” and when she lets go, she holds him at arm’s length to look him over. 

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” she says. “Too skinny, if you ask me, but you never do. Come on, love, let’s go have our tea and you can tell us all what you’ve been up to in London.”

Louis is so caught up in talking to his sisters and mum that he doesn’t realize that Daniel has run out until he returns from Tesco with a chocolate cake. Louis breaks off from telling a story about the bookstore, grinning hugely as Daniel sets the cake down in front of him, half a dozen candles glowing orange on top. 

“Six, am I?” Louis asks, laughter bubbling out of him.

“It the most I could grab,” Daniel says apologetically. 

Lottie clears her throat loudly, half-shouts, “Happy Birthday—” and the rest of the family join in, mostly in-tune, with the babies banging their spoons against their high-chair trays. Louis has to blink very hard to clear the smoke out of his eyes.

“This is lovely,” he says when they’ve finished. “Thank you, so much.” 

“Blow out the candles!” Phoebe says impatiently. Louis laughs, screws up his eyes, and makes a wish before blowing the candles out in one go. 

The rest of the afternoon and evening is consumed by eating cake and his mum’s home-cooked pasta, playing with the babies, and talking with his sisters. They watch telly after tea, Ernest balanced on Louis’s knee as he chats with Fizzy, and as Louis looks around, he’s hit with a sudden wave of homesickness. He hasn’t lived at home in a good while, and for the most part he’s been all right with it. But he misses the noise and the chaos. He misses his mum and his sisters and being part of a family.

He realizes now that he had been cherishing a small, guilty hope that they were struggling without him. When he had lived at home, he had been the one to help Fizzy and Lottie with their shopping. He had walked the twins to school and made dinner when his mum was on shift. Part of him had assumed that without him they wouldn’t know what to do. But clearly they’ve been just fine without him. Lottie’s thinking about beauty school. Fizzy’s finishing up secondary and talking about going to uni. The twins are loud and energetic and popular at school, and Louis is barely staying afloat in London. Some older brother he is.

He falls into a quiet brood after a while, and barely notices when his mum takes Ernest out of his hands to put him to bed. His sisters start yawning soon after, disappearing upstairs one by one. Daniel leaves to check on the babies, tactfully leaving Louis and his mum alone in the den to chat. His mum looks well, better than she’s been in the past, and she’s obviously happy. But still, Louis has to ask, because part of him has never stopped feeling guilty for leaving her alone. 

“How are you doing, really?” he asks. “Everything all right? Money, everything?”

“I’m wonderful,” she says, covering his hand with hers. “Honestly. It’s been a crazy year, of course, with the babies and everything, but it’s been good. Lottie and Fizzy have been such a help, and so has Dan. We miss you, of course. I’m so glad you were able to come up for the holiday.”

“I—you should know, I quit one of my jobs,” he says, looking down at his knees. “The restaurant job. That’s why I could come back today. It’s just, until I work that out, I dunno if I’ll be able to send much back to you—”

“Louis, love. We’re doing all right, I promise,” his mum says, squeezing his arm. “Not that I don’t appreciate everything you’ve been sending back to help with the girls, but now that Lottie can work and Daniel is around, it’s been a bit easier. You’ve got to save some up for yourself.”

“Are you sure?” Louis asks. “I don’t mind, really.”

“Of course.” She kisses the side of his head. “And I have something to show you.” She gets up, disappears for a few minutes, and returns with something clutched in her hand. She sits back down next to him and uncurls her fingers to reveal—

“Oh my god, he finally proposed,” Louis blurts out. His mum bursts out laughing and nods, turning the sparkling engagement ring over in her hand. 

“Just a few days ago. We haven’t told the girls yet, we were waiting until New Year so we didn’t take away from Christmas,” she explains. “But we’re going to get married in May. So you don’t have to worry about me, Louis. I’m happier than I’ve been in ages.”

“I’ll always worry,” Louis says, tucking his head against her shoulder. “You’re my best mate.”

“And you’re mine,” she says. “But Louis, love, you’ve got to live your own life for yourself. That’s what I want from you this Christmas.” 

“You’re dead sappy this year, Mum,” he tells her. “Is that what happens when you fall in love? Remind me never to do that.”

His mum laughs and pulls him tight against her side. “I’ll remind you that you said this when you bring a nice young man home.”

Louis thinks of Nick for a moment, out on holiday with his family in some exotic location and no doubt having the time of his life. Louis can’t even imagine that. “I don’t know if that’ll be happening any time soon,” he says. “I’ll have to live vicariously through you.”

“You’ll find someone,” his mum says comfortably. “You’ve got that cheeky charm.” She kisses the top of his head. “I’m really very glad you were able to come home for Christmas.”

“Me too,” Louis says, and he cuddles into her side, feeling all of twelve years old, until they have to get up and start putting the girls’ presents in their stockings. 

When Louis wakes up in the morning, it takes him a moment to remember where he is. He blinks up at the ceiling, wondering why his bed feels so lumpy, and then he feels something small and heavy land on his legs. 

“Wake _up_ ,” Phoebe says impatiently. “It’s _Christmas_!”

Louis straightens as best he can with Phoebe sitting on his knees. “Oh, is that so?” he teases, reaching out to tickle her beneath her arm. She shrieks and squirms away, nearly falling off the couch. He had elected not to evict one of his sisters, his old room having been turned over to the babies, and his feet are rather cold. He pokes his toes into Phoebe’s side and sits up as the rest of the family comes down stairs, the younger ones excited, the older ones yawning and looking vaguely disgruntled. 

Louis checks his phone and sees a series of texts from his mates, including one from Liam that somehow manages to misspell ‘merry’ and ‘Christmas’ and _IT’S CHRISTMAS!!!!!!!!_ from Nick, sent at midnight. He smiles, then has to hastily put it away when his mum scolds him. 

He opens his gifts from Santa and his siblings first—mostly small things like candy, though Lottie and Fizzy had gone in together on a Rovers jersey for him—and doesn’t even complain about the comparative lack of birthday gifts. He used to always get annoyed since it seemed like everyone forgot, but he hardly cares now. He’s just happy to be home.

The last gift he opens is a small box from Daniel and his mum. “For your birthday and Christmas,” his mum says, nudging it towards him. He rips off the paper and pauses, recognizing the white box. He saw it when Liam got his iPhone earlier in the year. He carefully takes off the last of the paper, revealing the Apple logo on the top.

“Mum,” Louis says in awe, staring down at it. “You didn’t.”

“You haven’t even _opened_ it,” said Daisy. 

“What, did she hide something else in here?” Louis opens the box. Inside is a slim black iPhone, the latest model, in a red case and, he notices, a screen protector. It must have cost a small fortune. “Mum, you shouldn’t have.”

“Oh hush,” she says. “I absolutely should have. You needed a new one, and we upgraded your contract, too.” She hugs him around the shoulders. “Best go get it sorted.” 

Louis kisses her on the cheek, gives Daniel a hug, and then hugs all his sisters so tight that they squeak. What a wonderful Christmas, he thinks as he goes to use Lottie’s computer and get his phone started. Best one ever. 

 

By the end of the week, Louis has driven Liam absolutely mental with photos of everything on his journey back to London and random items around their flat. “You have to download Snapchat,” Liam says over the phone. “Use that and stop texting me every five minutes.”

“But _Liam_ ,” Louis whines. “Don’t you miss me?”

“Of course I do, you wanker,” Liam says. “But if you send me one more photo of your laundry pile, I’ll strangle you when I get back to London.”

“Don’t lie, you want to see my dirty pants,” says Louis. 

“Bye, Louis,” Liam says loudly, and he hangs up. Louis takes another four photos of his pants just to annoy Liam and heads out to work. 

New Year’s Eve, Louis goes out with some of his co-workers from the bookshop and gets absolutely twatted, snogs at least four strangers that he remembers, and sicks up in a bin on his way home. Starting the year as he means to go on and all that. 

He also, apparently, calls Nick, or so his phone history tells him when he wakes up around two in the afternoon with a hideously dry mouth and a pounding headache. He frowns at his screen, blurry-eyed and not conscious enough to process what he’s looking at. Outgoing call to Nick Grimshaw at a little past four a.m. Nothing good could have come of that. God, he really hopes Nick didn’t pick up. For all that Louis isn’t planning on taking him up on his dating offer, no matter what he’d said before Christmas, he wants Nick to think well of him. 

Louis is drinking a cup of tea and a plate of microwaved bacon when his phone beeps with an incoming text. _Got your message_ , it says from Nick. _Had a good New Year then? :p_

Louis makes a face at the emoticon and types back, _I don’t know what I said but you should ignore it. I was a bit pissed._

 _When you started singing Harry’s song I figured that was the case_. The little … bubble displays, and Louis waits for Nick to finish typing, his tea gone sour in his mouth. _I’d like to chat if you’re able._

Louis gulps down the last of his tea and glances to the door. Liam is meant to be home sometime today, but not until later, he doesn’t think. Still, he goes into his bedroom for the illusion of extra privacy and curls up in his duvet before writing back, _Ok._

He waits with his phone cradled in his hands, feeling like a bit of an idiot. When his phone starts ringing, he nearly drops it in surprise, then rolls his eyes at himself and answers with, “Hey.”

“Hiya,” Nick says, sounding cheerful and maybe still drunk. Louis actually isn’t sure where he is right now. Last he knew—not that he was keeping up with Nick on Instagram—Nick was in America. “How are you feeling this morning? Bit tired and emotional?”

“It’s afternoon for me, and tired, yes,” Louis says. “Are you still out?”

“The party never ends in Miami,” Nick says. “Or in London, apparently. Had a good night?”

“I suppose,” Louis says. “What did I say on the message?”

“Not much,” Nick says. “You giggled a lot.”

“I do not giggle,” Louis says indignantly. 

“When I’m back, I’m going to make you listen to it and you’ll have to agree that you giggled.” Someone yells Nick’s name, and Nick’s voice goes muffled as he shouts back, “Keep your top on, I’ll be there in a moment!”

“You ought to go,” Louis says. “Sounds like you’ve got a lot more partying to do.”

“Of course, but I want to chat with you,” Nick says. “Did you have a good Christmas?”

“Nick,” Louis says, rolling his eyes heavenward. “Is this really the time?”

“Tell me!” Nick says, loud enough that Louis winces and pulls the phone away from his ear. “I want to know.”

“It was fine, my birthday was fine—”

“Hang on, your birthday?” Nick actually sounds offended. “When’s your birthday?”

“Christmas Eve,” Louis says. “It’s a bit rubbish, really, it means all my gifts get combined into one—”

“I can’t believe you didn’t mention your birthday,” Nick says indignantly. “How old are you now?”

“Oi, that’s not on,” Louis says. “You don’t ask about someone’s age. And why should I have mentioned it?”

“Birthdays are important! Listen, when I’m back in London, I’m taking you out for dinner,” Nick says. “My treat. Consider it a birthday present.”

“That sounds an awful lot like a date,” Louis says. 

“Of course not,” Nick says. “And are you really going to turn down a free meal?”

Bollocks, Nick’s right about that, and whatever Nick chooses is bound to be dead nice. “Okay, fine,” Louis says. “Give me a ring when you’re back, I guess.”

“You could sound a bit more enthusiastic,” Nick chides, but Louis can tell he’s smiling. He knows that tone of Nick’s voice. “Not everyone gets a dinner from me.”

“I know, you’re dead cheap,” Louis says, and he grins when Nick bursts into laughter. 

“Right, I see how it is,” Nick says. “I’ll show you. I’ll ring you when I’m back, all right?”

“Yeah,” Louis says. “All right.” 

“Good, I’ll do that. Bye, love! Bye bye bye,” Nick says, and then he hangs up. Louis tosses his phone at his pillow and faceplants into his mattress. He’s such a bloody idiot, he really is. This is the opposite of everything he meant to do, and yet any willpower he’s ever had seems to have deserted him. Would it be so bad to indulge himself, just a little?

“This calls for crisps and telly,” he says to himself, and he heads back out to lie on the sofa and watch rubbish telly until Liam gets home. 

Liam doesn’t get in until nearly eleven, which is far later than he said he’d be home. Louis cranes his neck to look at him, and sees that Liam is smiling to himself like a besotted twat. He narrows his eyes suspiciously and chucks some crisps at Liam to get his attention. Liam’s head snaps up, looking around in confusion. 

“Louis?” he asks. “Where are you?”

“On the sofa, you donut,” Louis says. 

“Oh!” Liam peers over at him, smiling wider. He flops down on the sofa beside Louis, dropping his bags on the floor with a loud thump. “How were your holidays?”

“Not as good as yours, apparently,” Louis says, poking his finger into the love bite revealed by the slipping collar of Liam’s shirt. “Who’s the lucky lad or lady?”

“Stop it,” Liam says, batting Louis’s hand away. “It’s nothing, all right?”

“Liam James Payne,” Louis says, pushing himself upright. “Did you have yourself a cheeky shag?”

“Stop it,” Liam says crossly. “You fancy anything to eat? I’m bloody starving.”

“I could eat,” Louis says. They order in takeaway from a Chinese restaurant that’s still open and eat on the floor in front of the telly like they used to when they’d first moved in. Liam has a dozen stories about his sisters and being home with his friends, though, Louis notes, he doesn’t say one word about the mysterious love biter. Louis tries to hint around it, but either Liam doesn’t realize or he’s pretending to be obtuse in hopes that Louis will drop it. Which, really, he should know better. If Liam’s being squirrelly about it, there must be a good story there, and Louis is going to find out what it is. 

 

Liam remains stubbornly and irritatingly immune to Louis’s many methods of persuasion, which include hiding in the shower until Liam comes in to use the toilet and then jumping out and yelling, “Who are you sleeping with?” and leaving dozens of sticky-notes around Liam’s bed and a few on his face that say, _Who’s your new hot date???_ Liam slaps one of those onto Louis’s face when Louis gets back from the bookshop that night. 

“You’re a bloody menace, Louis Tomlinson,” he says. “And why didn’t you tell me you got fired from the restaurant? I thought you were just late.”

“I didn’t get fired, did Tim tell you he fired me? Because he’s a fucking liar if so,” Louis says. “I quit because he kept scheduling me when he promised he wouldn’t, the wanker. Tried to make me work Christmas Eve and New Year’s even when I asked for it off.”

“Oh,” Liam says, sitting at their kitchen table and returning to his bowl of cereal. “Well, you still should have told me.”

“Thought I texted you that,” Louis says vaguely. He opens the fridge, hunts around for something that doesn’t look too vile, and sits across from Liam. “If you tell me who you’re dating, I’ll tell you who I’m going out with.” Sort of, anyway, but he’s not going to tell Liam that. 

Liam chokes on his cereal. “You’re going out with someone?”

“Not _officially_ , he’s on holiday, but yes, we have a date planned,” Louis says primly, reasoning to himself that it’s mostly true, even if they hadn’t really put the word ‘date’ on it. He still has no idea what it is Nick wants—which is completely beside the point, since he’s trying to get Liam to cough up his secrets right now. “But like I said, I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

Liam contorts his face into a look of pure anguish. “I _can’t_ tell, I promised. It’s all very complicated.”

“Are they married?” 

“No!” Liam yelps. “No, of course not!”

“Closeted?” Louis kicks Liam under the table. “Or, I don’t know, do they have conservative parents?”

“I’m not answering any of that,” Liam says. “His life is a bit complicated, is all, so it’s easier the less people know about it.”

“Aha!” Louis points triumphantly with his fork. “It’s a he!”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Liam says, rolling his eyes. “Give up, will you?”

And that’s all Liam says on the matter. As he’s usually utter rubbish at keeping secrets, Louis is both impressed and insulted by his total silence on the matter. There must be something wrong with this boy of Liam’s, if he’s keeping so quiet about it. And Liam deserves _more_ than that, he really does, not that he listens to Louis. Either Louis will convince him to cough up the name or he’ll convince him to date someone he _can_ talk about.

Nick returns to London the second weekend of January and rings Louis to set a date and time. They pick the following Saturday as the best time, as Louis’s bookshop shift starts later on Sundays. It isn’t until Nick has actually arrived at the building that Louis realizes that by having Nick pick him up, he’s losing his best bargaining chip in the Get Liam To Tell Louis His Boyfriend’s Name campaign. 

“Hi, who is this?” Liam asks through the intercom when their buzzer goes. Louis looks up in alarm from where he’s putting on his shoes and so has the perfect view of the way Liam’s face changes from confusion to confused delight as Nick’s tinny voice says, “It’s Nick Grimshaw, I’m here for Louis?”

“Get away,” Louis says to Liam, shooing him away. Liam goes easily, grinning madly, which does not bode well, and Louis leans in to say, “Sorry, hi.”

“Hiya,” Nick says. “Can I come on up?” 

“Yeah, we’re on the third floor,” Louis says. He hits the buzzer to let Nick up so he doesn’t have to stand in the cold and starts hunting for his scarf and determinedly avoiding looking at Liam. When he straightens up, he makes the mistake of catching Liam’s eye. Liam is actually clasping his hands in front of his face, the soppy git.

“That’s the guy! You’re going out with Nick Grimshaw,” Liam says delightedly, face scrunching up. He seizes Louis around the shoulders and hugs him. “This is brilliant! Oh, I knew you fancied him.”

“Gerroff me,” Louis says grumpily, pushing Liam off. “It’s his birthday gift to me, that’s all. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You want to _date_ him,” Liam says in a sing-song voice. “You want to have his _babies_.”

“I swear I will have my revenge on you,” Louis says darkly. “When you least expect it, I’ll be there. Ready to strike.”

“No you won’t, because you’re in _love_!” Liam yells as Louis takes his coat and slips out the door. “In _love_ —”

“Um,” Nick says from where he’s standing in their hall. He looks quite smart, in nice trousers and a button up shirt that is revealing quite a lot of chest, all beneath a long green coat. “Should I ask?”

“Definitely not,” Louis says, face heating at the thought of Nick hearing all of that. “Come on, let’s leave before he tries to plan our wedding.”

It’s bloody freezing outside, and Louis’s coat isn’t as warm as it ought to be. Louis swears and ducks his chin into his collar. “Are we walking far?”

“I’ve got a car,” Nick says cheerfully, pointing to the kerb where a Mercedes SUV is parked at a wonky angle. “Come on.”

“You’re a rubbish driver,” Louis protests, who remembers only too vividly several terrifying journeys in Nick’s former car. 

“Hey!” Nick pokes him in the arm. “You want a ride or not?”

Louis gets in without protesting further and only barely winces as Nick screeches away from kerb. “Who gave you your license? Were they blind?”

“I bribed ‘em,” Nick says. 

“Makes sense.” Louis settles back and crosses his arms over his chest. “Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise,” Nick says. “Nowhere too posh, I promise.”

“What does that mean?” Louis demands, bristling. “Think I’m not up for posh?”

“Thought it wouldn’t be bloody comfortable with us staring at each other over tiny plates of food arranged into towers,” Nick says evenly. “Unless you want quinoa with a duck reduction or sommat.”

Louis makes a face. “No thank you.”

“Then see? Stop complaining.” Nick takes a turn sharply enough that Louis grabs onto the door. “Oh, stop being so dramatic.”

“Then stop trying to kill us before we get to the bloody restaurant!” Louis says.

They miraculously arrive at the restaurant in one piece. Nick escorts Louis in with one hand at the small of his back and his head ducked down. He looks a bit ridiculous, and Louis is about to tease him for it when he remembers that Nick does, on occasion, get papped. As unlikely it is that a photographer would be hanging out at this lowkey Italian restaurant, Louis has been in the back of shots of Nick before, both of them looking drawn and a bit worse for wear as they emerge from whatever club or bar they’d been in and frankly he doesn’t love it. He isn’t rushing to have that happen again, so he holds in the urge to tease.

The hostess takes them to a seat in a corner, elegantly made up with a small tea candle and a small vase with a rose in it. It’s all very romantic. Louis’s palms start to sweat. He hadn’t thought enough about this, about sitting across from Nick in tastefully dim lighting and staring at him for however long it takes him to eat his penne vodka or whatever. 

“Well, this is cozy,” Nick says cheerfully. “They do a mean margherita pizza, if you fancy that sort of thing, though Fiona swears by their gnocchi.”

“Take a lot of people here, then?” Louis asks. 

“It’s one of my favourites.” Nick doesn’t even open the menu, just watches as Louis opens his. “Thought you’d like it, is all.”

“Bit dangerous to take me somewhere you love,” Louis observes. “If this is a date.”

“I didn’t say that it was,” Nick says. “Are you saying that?”

Louis narrows his eyes, but Nick isn’t smiling, and he has a rubbish poker face. “No. Definitely not.”

“Then we’re still in agreement. This isn’t a date.” Nick smiles at the waiter when he comes over and sets down a bread basket. “Can we get some water? Thanks.”

“So.” Louis cast about for something to talk about. “How were your holidays? Looked awfully nice over in Miami.”

“Keeping tabs on me?” Nick teases. “Waiting for those bikini photos?” 

“Living vicariously through you, more like,” Louis retorts. “I was stuck here working. Not all of us can swan off for three weeks at a time.”

“Two, let’s not exaggerate needlessly.” Nick picks up a piece of bread and starts ripping it apart, scattering crumbs all over his plate. “Soz your holiday wasn’t all that relaxing. That’s rubbish, everyone deserves some time off at Christmas.”

Louis shrugs. “It is what it is. I got to go home for my birthday at least.” He launches into a story about the babies, only pausing when the waiter comes over to take their order. Nick gets the pizza; Louis decides to try the gnocchi, since Nick is paying, and the waiter recommends them a wine, which Nick accepts. Louis knows he’s babbling a bit, but he doesn’t like the silence, and it’s only when he’s telling Nick about the twins causing a small food fight on Christmas day that he realizes Nick isn’t paying any attention. He snaps his fingers in front of Nick’s face. 

“Oi,” he says. “Rude. Are you listening at all?”

Nick blinks and focuses on Louis. “Is he right?” he asks.

“Who, the waiter? I dunno what kind of wine is best,” Louis says, confused. “Liam’s the bartender.”

“No, not the waiter—I meant Liam.” Nick is fiddling with his silverware, turning his fork over and over again. “Do you really fancy me? You’ve just seem a bit, dunno, off.”

“Oh, that,” Louis says, his face heating. He takes a hasty swallow of water and thinks frantically about what he should say. The truth, perhaps. That might do. “Yeah, I suppose I do.”

“You _suppose_?” Nick asks, raising his eyebrows. “Well, thank you for that ringing endorsement.”

“I’m on a date with you, aren’t I?” 

“Now you’re saying it’s a date?” Nick asks, mouth twitching. “Thought you said it wasn’t.”

“Oh, shut up, we both know what this is.” Louis picks up his napkin, sets it back down again, and sighs. “Of course I fancy you. That’s not really the issue, is it?”

“It isn’t?”

“It’s all of _this_ ,” Louis says, gesturing at Nick. “You’re a famous DJ who’s pals with, like, Pixie Geldof and Lily Allen. I work at a bookshop. Come on.”

“Don’t forget an X Factor judge and a fashion designer,” Nick says. “But come on, Louis. You’ve seen me ratty and irritable and hungover. It’s not like you don’t know me.”

“It doesn’t really matter, does it?” Louis says. “You’re still here—” He raises his hand to eye level. “And I’m down here.” He drops his hand to the table. “It’s not really, you know. We’re not living the same life.”

“It’s not like I’m Lord Sugar or anything,” Nick says, rolling his eyes. “And come on, I’m from _Manchester_. I’m not all that different from you.”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about,” Louis says crossly. “You know I’m right.”

Nick grows serious, smile dropping off his face. “Yeah,” he says. “I guess I do.” 

The waiter comes with their wine, a welcome distraction, and they both wait until he leaves to resume their conversation. Nick leans forward, gaze unusually intent, and says, “I’m not asking for, you know, the world. Just, I like you and Halloween was nice, and I’d quite like to shag you again, if you’re interested.”

The problem is, Louis _is_ interested. Very interested, and he already likes Nick rather a lot, and he can’t see this lasting long. “What if it makes everything weird?” he asks. 

“I can work through that,” Nick says, and given what Louis knows about Nick’s social circle, that’s probably true. He’s dead good at staying friends with exes and former hook-ups. It’s like his superpower. “It’s all right if you don’t want to, of course, I’m not going to stop talking to you. It’s just so rare that I actually manage to work up the nerve to even get to this point that frankly you should be flattered.”

He looks so flustered, flushed with embarrassment. Louis remembers when someone Nick fancied would pop by the radio or run into them at a club, and Nick would pretend like he hadn’t even seen them, or blow them off like he didn’t care one bit about them. “I can’t embarrass myself that way,” he had said to Fiona once when she badgered him as to why. “I don’t have any idea what to say.” Louis feels immensely powerful, suddenly, that he, of all people, can make Nick try like this. That he can render someone flustered and nervous just by existing. 

“All right,” Louis says. “Yes. Let’s shag and that.” He grins at Nick, who grins back and immediately kicks Louis in the knee under the table. 

Dinner flows much more smoothly after that, Nick regaling Louis with stories from his holidays and Louis sharing his many theories about Liam’s secret boyfriend. His favourite current theory is that Liam’s boyfriend is a spook for MI6. Liam would be weak-kneed for that to be sure. He’d love to be the Bond girl to some hotshot spy.

They split a slice of flourless chocolate gateau for dessert, and Nick spends the entire time whinging about what it’s doing to his waistline, even as he gets chocolate all around his mouth. Louis snorts and leans across the table to wipe it away with his thumb. Nick blinks, absurdly long eyelashes casting ashy shadows against his cheekbones, and smiles slowly. 

“Fancy going back to mine?” he asks, voice suddenly much lower. And, yes. Louis rather does. 

 

They’re absolute disasters when they stumble into Nick’s flat, too wrapped up in each other to notice the furniture they’re bumping into or, as it turns out, the mate of Nick’s who’s watching telly on the couch. The girl, curvy with white-blonde hair and dusky skin, clears her throat loudly. 

“Oh—bollocks. Didn’t see you there,” Nick says. Louis muffles his laugh in Nick’s shoulder, working at Nick’s shirt as he does so. “Soz, Carrie. Mind if I kick you out just now?”

“Have fun, boys,” says Carrie, getting up. “Pig’s in the guest room. May want to shut the door unless you’re into that kind of thing.”

“Don’t be disgusting,” Nick says. “See you later.” He palms Louis’s bum as he says that, getting himself a good handful and squeezing. “And shut the door on your way out.”

“Later, Grim,” Carrie says, sounding very long-suffering. The door shuts a moment later. Louis turns his head to nip at Nick’s neck. 

“Who was that?” he asks, scraping his teeth down to Nick’s collar. “Friend? Neighbour? Should I be worried she’s going to sell my story to the papers?”

“Bit of both, plus occasional dog-sitter. Now, I love Carrie but I’d rather not talk about her when I’ve got you nearly in my bed.” Nick squeezes Louis’s bum again and groans. “God, you’re gorgeous.”

“Ah, whatever,” Louis says. “You’ve already had me, no need to flatter.” 

“I disagree.” Nick yelps as Louis bites his collar. “What’s _that_ for?”

“Why are we still in the living room?” Louis demands. 

“You make a good point,” Nick says, and with that Nick takes him to the bedroom at last. 

This time, Louis gets to show off, getting on his knees for Nick and sucking him off slowly, luxuriously. He knows he looks a treat like this, mouth stretched wide and his eyes a little teary from the pressure. There’ve been guys who’ve loved how ready Louis is to take it, but Nick is almost _careful_. He rests his hand gently against Louis’s cheek, not pushing or pressing. He even rubs the moisture away from the corner of Louis’s eye, looking down at him with this impossibly tender expression. 

He reaches up for Nick’s hands and steers them to the back of his head, trying to let Nick know that he can push if he likes. Even so, he doesn’t; he just threads his fingers through Louis’s hair, pressing lightly against his scalp. It’s all very unusual, but not unpleasant. Louis thinks he might actually like it. 

Nick pulls him off before he comes, another strange bit of consideration, and Louis turns his face to catch Nick’s come on his cheek and neck. Nick sighs, the first real sound he’s made so far, and wipes at Louis face. “Look at you,” he says, voice rough. “Such a mess.”

“Fuck off,” Louis says, but there isn’t much bite to it, not when his erection is visibly tenting his trousers. Nick smirks at him knowingly, the bastard, and presses his fingers into Louis’s mouth—still gentle, but insistent now. 

“Come on,” Nick says after a moment. “If you kneel down there much longer, you’ll get wonky knees.”

When they get to the bed, Nick kneels over Louis, his necklaces swinging. Louis tugs at them, then trails his hand down Nick’s chest. “You’re so bloody hairy,” he says idly. “Are you sure you’re not part ape?”

Nick rolls his eyes and wraps his hand around Louis’s dick. “Careful, love,” he says. “I might just let you suffer if you aren’t nice.”

“You’d never.” Louis takes hold of Nick’s necklaces again and pulls him down. “You fancy me too much.”

Nick answers that with a kiss, wanking Louis off rough and fast, and Louis comes with one hand tangled in Nick’s stupid jewellery and the other in Nick’s ridiculous hair. Nick presses kisses to the curve of Louis’s jaw, then rolls off him to splay out on the duvet. They lie beside each other, panting. After a moment Nick’s hand steals into Louis’s. 

“How much time do you need before we have another go?” Nick asks. 

“Thirty minutes, probably, if I’m going to have a proper go,” Louis says. “You?”

“Bit longer than that. I’m an old man, you know.” Nick yelps indignantly as Louis rolls onto him. “What are you doing?”

“Seeing how fast I can get you there,” Louis says. He pushes Nick’s wrists up above his head and leans down to kiss him again.

 

Louis leaves dead early in the morning once again so he can get home for a shower and breakfast before going to work. A sleepy-eyed Nick sees him off, Pig at his side, wearing an absurd paisley dressing gown over his pants. Nick kisses him goodbye, mouth tasting dreadfully like coffee, and Louis resolves to try once again to convert Nick to tea as he leaves to catch his train back. 

“I guess the date went well,” Liam says when Louis walks in. He’s eating scrambled eggs and bacon, and Louis doesn’t think about how weird that is until he’s already in the shower and lathered up. The moment he realizes, Louis hops out, grabbing a towel, and pokes his head out of the bathroom to glare at Liam. 

“Oi,” he says. 

Liam turns, eyebrows raised. “What?”

“You can’t cook,” Louis says accusingly. “Who made you breakfast? Your mysterious boyfriend?”

Liam looks hunted, gaze sliding away guiltily. “No,” he says. “Don’t be ridiculous. Maybe Ellie’s been teaching me.”

“Ellie has no patience for teaching,” Louis says. “You had him over here last night, you slag!”

“You’re the one doing the walk of shame at half seven!” Liam retorts. “And hurry up with that shower, you’re going to be late if you waste all your time talking to me.”

He’s right, which is the only reason Louis gets back in the shower instead of bothering him more. By the time Louis gets out, towelling his hair dry, Liam has squirrelled himself away in his room. Louis jiggles the locked door a few times, calls, “I’m going to figure out who it is, Payne!” and goes to get dressed for work, leaving his damp towel just outside Liam’s room for him to step on later. 

 

Over the next couple weeks, Nick and Louis don’t bother going to dinner. Instead, they spend their hours together in bed. Or—well, not always the bed. Sometimes it’s on Nick’s sofa or the armchair in the guest bedroom. On the floor of Nick’s bedroom when Nick trips and falls. Once on the kitchen counter, Louis’s back to the cabinets as Nick sucks him off. They even try shagging against the wall only for Nick’s weak noodle arms to give out after about two seconds. That one ends with Nick fucking Louis over the dining table and then spending the next half hour scrubbing the surface with a sponge, the obsessive weirdo. 

After, they usually watch telly and eat on the sofa, bickering over Nick’s obsession with _The Simpsons_ and Louis’s impatience with trashy reality television. Louis doesn’t think much of it all; it’s lowkey, relaxed—much less terrifying than he’d imagined—but Nick decides, unilaterally, that they’ve been staying in too much. 

“We’re dead boring,” Nick says, standing up in the middle of his bedroom and putting his hands on his hips. The attempt at gravitas is rather ruined by the Britney Spears shirt he’s wearing. “We’re young and vibrant. We ought to be out doing things.”

“I’m fairly certain the things we do would get us arrested for indecency anywhere else,” Louis points out. 

“Shurrup. I’m taking you somewhere,” Nick says. “Next weekend.”

“If it’s rubbish, I’m going to insist we never do it again,” Louis warns him. “So it better be something good.”

Nick ends up taking Louis to an art show, which is a bit weird since as far as Louis knows, Nick doesn’t give a toss about art. He’s trying to figure out a polite way to ask “What the fuck are we doing here?” when Harry Styles greets them outside the gallery, looking dramatic in a flowing floral shirt and trousers so tight they’re really more like leggings.

“Nick, Louis!” He gives them both effusive hugs. “I’m so glad you came! You’re going to love the stuff in here.” Nick glances back at Louis and mouths, _No, I won’t_. Louis laughs and quickly pretends he’s sneezing when Harry looks over. 

It’s a very _modern_ gallery. There are vast paintings of indecipherable colour swirls, strange sculptures of twisted metal, a pile of doll clothing inside a wheelbarrow, and at least one painting Louis is fairly sure is a large cock. It’s all a bit brain-bending. There is, however, also free wine and hors d’oeuvres, so not all is lost. Louis has two glasses of red while trailing after Nick and Harry and listening to Harry ramble about the _symmetry_ and the _palette_ of one painting that looks like a five year old threw finger paints at a canvas. Nick is looking distinctly glazed. Louis makes a point of shoving a glass of wine into his hand before he wanders off to find something worth looking at. 

It’s the kind of gallery where half the people are dressed in skinny jeans and t-shirts, so Louis doesn’t look too out of place. He skims a few crackers with, shit, fucking _caviar_ on them, and what he thinks are meant to be spring rolls. He’s eying the room for any more waiters with appealing offerings when he feels a draft of cold breeze. Louis looks for the source and sees a door marked EXIT that’s propped open with a brick. Curious, he steps outside out and discovers it leads to an alley behind the gallery. 

There’s an exceptionally good-looking guy leaning against the wall, with bleached blond hair and a nose stud, smoking a cigarette and looking like an advert. He’s wearing a battered leather jacket and ripped jeans, but having seen the people inside, he’s probably fabulously wealthy anyway. Louis is about to head back inside, curiosity sated, when he bangs his elbow against the door frame and swears loudly. The man looks up, eyebrows raised. Louis raises his hand awkwardly in greeting. 

“Hey, sorry,” he says. “Just saw the door was open and was wondering what was out here.”

“Here for the exhibition?” the man asks. He’s got a slow Yorkshire accent, even heavier than Louis’s. Louis relaxes a bit, more comfortable knowing he isn’t talking to some posh Londoner. 

“Yeah, my—my mate dragged me here,” Louis says, rolling his eyes. “Bit much, innit?”

“Not into art?” 

“I dunno, it’s not really my thing,” Louis says. “Show me a picture of a dog and I know it’s a dog, that’s about it. All this—” He gestures vaguely back at the gallery. “I don’t really get it.”

“Hm.” The man throws his cigarette to the ground and stubs it out beneath a heavy boot. “If you fancy it, I’ll show you. I know a bit about art.”

Louis shrugs and agrees. They slip back inside, the man kicking away the brick to let the door shut behind them. Louis snags another couple of spring rolls—they really are tasty—and follows him to look at the giant cock painting. 

“Take this, right. What do you see?” the man asks. 

“I see a giant knob,” Louis says. “Also, a painting of a big cock.”

The man snorts. “Fair. I guess this one is pretty straightforward, but what about these?” They move toward the swirly paintings which are, Louis has to admit, kind of soothing to look at. “See, this one’s called _Passion_.”

Louis squints at the painting. The left side is a dark purple, solid at the edges, but encroaching on its territory are wild swirls of vivid blue and pink, turning more and more chaotic until it reaches the right edge, where the paint seems to fall off the side of the painting. Louis blinks, something like understanding stirring inside him. “Oh,” he says. 

“Yeah,” the man says. “See, like, passion, it starts all slow and sort of, you know, unknown, but then it creeps in and takes over. And this one is _Grief_.” 

This one too, Louis thinks he can see the underlying idea of. If he were painting grief, he’d have gone for a lot of blue and grey, probably, and there’s some of that, softly fading in and out of each other. But then there are these violent slashes of horrible yellow-green, like the moment when suddenly the memory of grief returns and the feeling becomes overwhelming. “So they’re supposed to be, what, visual representations of emotions?”

“Yeah, like, it’s one of those things we don’t know how to define, exactly, but you can sort of show it.” The man gestures toward the canvas with a thoughtful look in his eye. “You know?”

“How do you know all of this?” Louis asks suspiciously. “Are you just fucking with me?”

“Course not,” the man says. “I know because I’m the artist.”

Louis stares at him, then looks at the little placard besides the painting. _Grief_ , Zayn Malik, Acrylic on Canvas 2015, it says.

“Hi,” the man says with a smirk, holding out his hand. “Zayn Malik.”

“Louis Tomlinson,” Louis says, shaking his hand and feeling a bit of a tit. “You know, I think my mate’s got a painting of yours. I thought you didn’t name your paintings?”

“Not usually,” Zayn says. “This is a special series, though.”

“Tell me about the others,” Louis demands. Zayn snorts, but turns and starts pointing out his other paintings. Louis is so absorbed in his newfound appreciation for art that he doesn’t notice Nick until he’s practically on top of them. 

“Louis, I’ve been looking for you all over—Zayn Malik?” Nick pulls up short, looking from Louis to Zayn. He’s holding two glasses of champagne. Louis relieves him of one before he can do something daft, like drop it in surprise. “Wow, Louis, how did you find him? Harry says he usually hides outside during these.”

“You know Harry?” Zayn asks, interested. “Oh, wait, you’re Grimmy, aren’t you?”

Introductions are made, explanations are given, and Harry zeroes in on them after a few seconds, beaming like a proud father. “Oh, you’ve all met,” he says brightly. “What do you say we ditch this and have some real wine?”

It’s easily one of the most surreal dinners of Louis’s life. Nick, Harry, and Zayn apparently have a lot of people in common, celebrities mostly, and they spend the appetizers gossiping about them. Louis zones out a bit, only paying attention when he recognizes a name, and wonders if this is what Nick’s life is like all the time. Must be bloody exhausting knowing that many people. 

“Hey, Louis,” Harry says abruptly. Nick and Zayn are talking about a musician Louis’s never heard of. “Is it all right if I call you Louis?”

“What are you going to call me, Mr. Tomlinson?” Louis asks, confused. “We’ve met, Harry. It’s all right.”

“I suppose,” Harry says. “I was wondering, you know, since we met the once at Nick’s—no, Scott’s, it was Scott’s—Halloween party, with the karaoke and stuff. I haven’t seen him since, your housemate. Liam. How is he?”

Louis, who’d sort of lost the thread of what Harry was saying, blinks. “Liam is fine,” he says cautiously. “He seems to be really happy right now. Got a boyfriend and all that.”

“Oh really?” Harry props his hand on his chin and widen his eyes. Louis is suspicious. “Is he fit?”

“Don’t even know his name, if I’m honest,” Louis says. “Look, why are you asking?”

“Ah, there’s our waiter,” Harry says loudly. He flags down their server and asks for a second napkin as, “I’m kind of messy.” The server looks completely charmed. 

“You’re a minx, Harry Styles,” Nick says. He’s dragging his finger along the rim of his wine glass, producing a very faint chime. “You know perfectly well that your smile should be deemed a weapon of mass destruction.”

Harry dimples and tosses his hair back. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” he says. 

After dinner, Nick and Louis are both too exhausted to shag, so Nick drops Louis off at home. They do indulge in a long, filthy snog in front of Louis’s flat, finishing off with a cheeky bum squeeze. “Next time, we’re staying in,” Louis says, pointing at Nick, and Nick laughs and agrees before heading out. Smiling, Louis opens the door, kicks off his shoes, and then comes to a dead stop.

Apparently this night _can_ get stranger, because Niall bloody Horan is sitting on the couch, guitar in hand, and Liam is sitting next to him, strumming away at a guitar Louis hadn’t realized he owned. “Yeah, good,” Niall is saying. “And then—”

Both of them start playing then, and it sounds really lovely. Like a proper folk duo. Louis leans against the wall, watching the two of them, and smiling when Liam starts to sing, like he can’t help himself. Probably can’t, the show-off. Niall harmonizes underneath, and Louis can’t resist taking out his phone to take a quick recording for Snapchat. 

When they finish, Louis applauds loudly, startling both of them into turning around. “Sounded great, boys,” he says, pushing himself upright. “Thinking of joining the band, Liam?”

“Oh, I’m not good enough for that. Niall here’s just been showing me how to play guitar.” Liam smiles at Niall. “He’s quite good.” 

“You’re not half bad yourself,” Niall says. “Getting better every day.”

“Okay, enough with the lovefest.” Louis flings himself into their lone armchair and scrutinizes both of them. Neither of them look particularly guilty, and since Liam especially is rubbish at hiding his feelings, Niall probably isn’t the mysterious boyfriend. Still, Louis has to ask: “So is this your secret lovebuddy?”

“Lovebuddy?” Niall asks, eyebrows going up. “Is that a new word?”

“Ignore him, he’s being ridiculous,” Liam says, cheeks pink. “I didn’t know you were going to be home tonight, I thought you were out with—” Louis makes an urgent _shut up_ gesture at Liam. “What? Niall probably already knows.”

“Know nothing, me,” Niall says. “Make a point of not knowing anything. Means I’m not lying when people ask.” 

“Ended the night early,” Louis says, crossing the room so he can get to bed. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your lesson. I’ll just go to my room now.”

“Is everything all right?” Liam asks, eyebrows furrowed. “You’re never home this early when you’re out with—with him.”

“It’s fine, we were both just knackered,” Louis says, irritation starting to rise. Why _had_ they gone to that bloody art show? Waste of a perfectly good opportunity for a shag, in his opinion. “You just go back to your secret guitar lessons and secret boyfriends.” 

“I never—” Liam starts, but Louis is already shutting the door to his room. He throws himself facedown onto the bed and groans loudly, angry with himself for being irritated and irritated with Nick and Liam and maybe even a bit with Harry, who is perfectly nice if extremely weird, for making this night not what he wanted. He’d thought maybe dinner and another shag, not weird art, even if it had ended up being interesting. Was Nick bored already, or was it something else?

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Louis gets up and starts shucking off his clothes. When he gets back in bed and goes to plug in his phone, he’s got a text from Nick: _Soz tonight was a bit weird. Thought it might fun. Never again!_ He’s followed that up with the dancing lady emoji and, for some reason, Father Christmas. 

Louis debates not texting him back. In the end, he can’t get to sleep because he’s thinking about it, so he writes, _You better keep that promise_ with an upside down smiley. He tucks his phone under his pillow before he falls asleep. 

 

“Sorry again,” Nick says when Louis arrives at his flat on Sunday evening. “Harry invited me to the show and I thought it’d be interesting, but it was dead weird, wasn’t it?”

“It was all right in the end,” Louis says. “Wasn’t so bad to just hang out, was it?”

Nick smiles and tugs Louis in by the belt loops. “I suppose not.” He kisses Louis hello. “Did you see the painting of the giant cock?”

“I rather fancied it,” Louis says. “You should have bought it. It’d look nice over your bed.”

“As a, dunno, omen or sommat?” Nick unbuttons Louis’s jeans and eases the zipper down. “You know what today is?”

“Sunday,” Louis says. “Are you that old that you’re forgetting days of the week?”

“It’s Valentine’s Day,” Nick says, ignoring him. He drops to his knees and grins up at Louis. 

“Ah,” Louis says, trying and failing to repress his smile. “Do you have a present for me, then?”

“My presence is a present,” Nick says. “But yeah, I had some ideas.” He tucks his fingers into Louis’s waistband and raises his eyebrows, smirking. Louis tugs at Nick’s hair, just to be a dick, and lets Nick pull down his jeans. 

Nick is very good at sucking cock. He’s very good at sex in general, actually, which, given what Louis’s heard about Nick’s wild early twenties in London, isn’t all that surprising. He’s also a bloody tease when it suits him, and it seems tonight he’s in that kind of mood. He takes Louis in slow, holding him in place so he can’t try to fuck his mouth. Louis’s legs shake, knees weak as Nick pulls nearly all the way off. Nick looks up through his lashes, and Louis just _knows_ that he’s smirking internally. The bastard. 

Louis’s knees nearly give out when he comes, which Nick is sure to mock him for later. For now, though, Nick wraps Louis up in a tight hug and bundles him over to the sofa. Louis melts into the cushions, Nick’s body a heavy blanket over him. 

“Why are you still wearing clothes?” Louis asks, plucking at Nick’s shirt. “Rubbish Valentine’s, that.”

“You didn’t even know it was today,” Nick protests. He kisses the side of Louis’s neck and runs his hand up Louis’s bare thigh. “Bet you didn’t even buy me chocolates.”

“I’ll give you a cheeky finger when I blow you, how about that,” Louis suggests. He starts tugging at Nick’s shirt. “Sound good?”

“I like it,” Nick says, and he tries rolling them over only for them to fall off the couch with a loud and painful thump. Louis pounds him in the shoulder in annoyance, then hits him again when he realizes Nick is _laughing_. 

“Oi, that hurt!” Louis says. “See if I go anywhere near your cock now.”

“You love my cock,” Nick says. He blows a raspberry against Louis’s collarbone. “Don’t lie.”

“No,” Louis says, squirming as Nick digs his freakishly long fingers into his sides, looking for a ticklish spot. “I hate your cock. It’s weird and rubbish.”

“Liar,” Nick says delightedly. He finds the place under Louis’s arm that gets him like nothing else, and Louis yelps, kicking out. “Aha, found it!”

“Get off me, you giant,” Louis says, shoving at him uselessly. “You’re killing me!”

“Admit you love my cock,” Nick says. “Admit it!”

“Fine, your cock is magnificent, I’ve never had one like it, I’d quite like to put it in my mouth now. Happy?” Louis pushes hard at Nick’s sternum, attempting to scowl and failing miserably; his cheeks are getting sore from smiling. 

“Better,” Nick says with satisfaction. He sits up and offers Louis a hand. “Bedroom?”

Once they’re unclothed and settled on the bed, Louis takes his time with Nick in vengeance, and it’s incredibly satisfying to have Nick fall apart in his hands. Nick doesn’t get fucked much, Louis doesn’t think, because there’s always a moment where Nick tenses as Louis teases at his bum. Usually Louis stops at that point, but when Louis looks up today, Nick nods at him to keep going. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Nick sighs as Louis presses inside. Louis allows himself a moment of smugness, since Nick doesn’t swear that much—radio training, he claims. Then he takes Nick’s cock in his mouth and doesn’t think about much more. 

Nick comes with a loud, but muffled groan, and when Louis pulls off, wiping at his mouth, he sees that Nick has dragged a pillow over his face. Louis snorts and bites Nick’s hip before pulling his fingers out. He wiggles his lube-slick fingers, wipes them on Nick’s thigh, and crawls up him to pull the pillow away. Nick’s eyes are squeezed shut, eyelashes damp, and his cheeks are bright red. 

“Hey,” Louis says, poking at Nick’s face. “You all right?”

“Give me a moment to recover,” Nick says without opening his eyes. “Bloody hell.”

“Good? Bad? Wicked?” Louis pokes Nick again. “Nicholas. Nick. _Grimmy_.”

Nick opens his eyes at that. “You never call me Grimmy. Even when you worked on my show.”

“Because it’s a stupid nickname,” Louis says. “So?”

“Fantastic,” Nick says. “Brilliant. You blew my mind. Rocked my world. Knocked my socks off—”

“Oh, shut up,” Louis says, and he rolls off Nick. “You’ve got anything to eat? I’m starved.”

“Help yourself,” Nick says, flapping his hand. “I’ll just stay here until my legs work again.”

Louis washes up at the sink and reclaims his pants before going to rummage in Nick’s fridge. He finds what looks like leftover takeaway Thai food and starts eating it straight from the container as he wanders over to the guest room to let out Pig. She trots out, and he could swear that if she were human, she would be giving him an annoyed look. 

“Sorry, love,” he tells her. “You’ll understand one day when you meet a nice boy dog. Or lady dog, I’m not one to judge.”

Pig noses at his feet, barks once, and then pads over to her food and water bowls. Louis crouches down to scratch behind her ears before straightening and taking his fridge finds into Nick’s room. 

“Not on the bed,” Nick protests as Louis hops onto the duvet next to him. “I’ve white sheets!”

“That seems like a problem with you,” Louis says. He slurps up some pad thai and hold the container out. “Want some?”

Nick glares at him, then sits up and takes the food from him. “Only because it’s Valentine’s,” he says. 

“Oh yes,” Louis says. “Flowers, chocolates, and leftover Thai in bed. All Valentine’s classics.” 

“We’re dead romantic, we are.” Nick tugs Louis toward him and kisses him. His lips are spicy from the noodles. “Fancy watching some telly?”

So Louis spends Valentine’s Day curled up with Nick and Pig watching reality television. Or, at least, the television is on; Nick and Louis don’t really pay it much attention. Louis has his legs over Nick’s lap, and Nick keeps running his hand up and down the inside of Louis’s leg. Louis tucks his face into Nick’s neck and closes his eyes, feeling the exhaustion from work disappear. 

“I should have known,” Louis says vaguely. 

“Known what?” Nick kisses the top of his head. 

“That it was Valentine’s Day.” Louis noses along Nick’s jaw, Nick’s stubble pricking at his lips. “Everything at work is bloody pink and red.”

“Not a fan?” Nick turns his head, nose just bumping Louis’s. “Don’t like all the love around?”

“I don’t usually,” Louis says. “I don’t usually have anything to do.”

“Mm, well, now I feel like I should have planned something better for you,” Nick says. “Proper fancy dinner and that.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Louis says. “We’re not—this is fine.”

Nick’s hand pauses on the inside of Louis’s thigh. “Fine?”

“Brilliant. Wonderful. Romantic as anything.” Louis puts his hand over Nick’s, linking their fingers together. “Best Valentine’s ever.”

“Better.” Nick resumes stroking Louis’s thigh. “Hey, Clara’s got an opening on her show. Looking for a junior producer type thingy.”

“Oh yeah?” Louis asks vaguely. Pig is nosing at his feet, making him twitch. “What’s up with your dog?”

“You must smell funny,” Nick says. “Are you listening to me?”

“Yeah, they’re looking for a junior producer,” Louis says. “What, you thinking of applying?”

“Ha ha, very funny.” Nick pinches him lightly. “I’m talking about you.”

Louis blinks, startled, and cranes his neck to look up at Nick. “You’re joking, aren’t you? Who would hire some shit that never even did A Levels?”

“You aren’t a shit,” Nick says. “Don’t say that. There’s so much you could do.”

“It’s fine, isn’t it,” Louis says, shaking his head. “We need people to work as waiters and that, so that’s fine. Someone has to do it. Besides, I don’t hate the bookshop that much.”

“Yes you do,” Nick says, frowning. “I can tell. There has to be something you love doing. You liked working on the radio with me, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did, but Clara can’t just hire me because I’m your—because we know each other,” Louis says, stumbling over himself. Nick’s expression changes at the slip, softens a little, and Louis has to look away quickly. “That would be pretty rubbish.”

“You should apply,” Nick says. “You’d be brilliant.”

“Stop,” Louis says crossly. “I’m not going to get it, so what’s the point?

“Did you know I failed out of university?” Nick asks. “Lasted two years, me. Now I’m on the Breakfast Show, speaking to the nation.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Louis says. “We aren’t all clever like you.”

“You’re clever,” Nick protests. “Louis—”

“We can’t all just get everything we bloody want in life, Nick,” Louis snaps. “Leave it alone, will you?”

Nick lets out a loud, gusty sigh. “All right. Sorry, I don’t mean to—sorry.”

“It’s all right,” Louis says gruffly. “Just don’t badger me about it, all right? I get enough nagging from me mum.”

Nick shudders. “Thank you for making me feel old all of a sudden. I’ll shurrup now.”

“Good,” Louis says without much heat, abruptly exhausted and ready to change the subject entirely. He gets to his feet, stretches his arms over his head, and looks back at Nick. “Okay if I spend the night?”

“Do you really have to ask, darling?” Nick drawls. Louis rolls his eyes at the endearment and goes into Nick’s room. A moment later, he tosses his jeans, then his pants out of the door. He hears Nick’s sharp inhale of breath, his muttered, “Night, Pig,” and hurried footsteps. Louis grins and goes to grab the lube and condoms from the nightstand. 

 

Over the next month and a half, Nick takes Louis out a few times more, a couple of times to movie screenings he has to go to for work, other times to dinner, but mostly they stay in together. It’s addictive, being part of someone’s life. Louis comes to rely on the hours he spends at Nick’s flat, safe from the everyday concerns of his life and the unrelenting stress of existing. Nick doesn’t bring up the job at Clara’s again, though Louis can see him biting it back when Louis mentions something annoying at work. Louis stops talking about the bookshop, and doesn’t tell Nick when he picks up a part-time shift at a coffee shop. Louis doesn’t want to be Nick’s charity case. 

The one, main problem with Nick is, well, that he’s _Nick_. He isn’t just some guy. Louis looked up to him—might still, a bit, look up to him, if he’s pressed to be honest—and Nick is famous and rich and friends with popstars and supermodels. He doesn’t need Louis, not the way Louis needs him.

Which is fine, really. Louis has his jobs, and he has Liam, and his mates from work, and he doesn’t want someone constantly wanting to know where he is or having him over. It’s better that he and Nick have their own lives and their own sets of friends. It keeps it from being too—too much. Keeps them from becoming too entangled together.

As spring starts to poke its head out from the ravages of winter, Liam continues seeing his mysterious boyfriend, and continues insisting it isn’t Niall, though Louis has his suspicions. Liam _would_ be the type to date a musician, and Niall is a lovely fellow, so very friendly and open. He sticks around for pints a few times after his guitar lessons with Liam and really, Louis wishes he could spend more time with him. He’s a cool guy, but then, he has pop star business to get on with, a new album and promotion. 

“Why _isn’t_ he your secret boyfriend?” Louis asks Liam after Niall’s gone home. He’s just over the line into drunk, feeling warm and fond of everyone. “He’s _lovely_.”

“You date him then,” Liam says comfortably. He sprawls out on the sofa and examines the beer bottle in his hand. “This is dead nice, isn’t it? I don’t usually like this stuff.”

Liam usually likes his alcohol sickeningly sweet. Niall had figured that out and brought over fruit-flavoured ale. Louis loves Niall. He’s the sweetest boy.

“I’d love to date Niall,” Louis declares. “I bet he’d be fun.”

Liam raises his eyebrows with interest. “Things not going well with Grimmy?”

“No, it’s fine,” Louis says. “Just—” He slides down further in his seat and rolls his head back to stare at the ceiling. “We’re not _dating_.”

“Could have fooled me,” Liam says. “What with the amount of time you spend ‘round his.”

“Well, I’m not bringing him here,” Louis says, gesturing around their flat to point out the tiny second-hand telly, the sink full of dishes, the mess of blankets because they don’t want to pay more for heat, and the coffee table covered in junk mail. “Come on.”

“Nothing wrong with our place,” Liam says defensively. “We do all right. We’ve not got rats or anything.”

“Whatever. He’ll get bored soon anyway,” Louis says. He hopes his dismissive tone hides how much he hopes that isn’t true. From the pitying look Liam gives him, he isn’t successful. “Never mind. Pass me another beer?”

Though he’s still clearly curious, Liam doesn’t continue to pry. For his part, Louis would rather avoid thinking about the inevitable end of him and Nick. Louis is stupid enough to let it go this far, but he’s starting to recognize how much he’s been relying on having this time with Nick. Escaping his flat and his rubbish jobs to see what it’s like to be successful and happy. It can’t last forever; that’s something he’s learned over and over again. 

But that’s the future, as he always reminds himself. Worry about that when it happens. Until then he’ll greedily take everything he’s offered, and pretend that it’s enough. 

 

“I’m DJ-ing a party next weekend,” Nick says the next time Louis spends the night. Louis is face-down on the bed beside him, and Nick is tracing patterns absently along his back. Probably spelling out swear words. “For a bar opening in Mayfair.”

“Sounds posh,” Louis says into the mattress. “Do you have anything nice enough to wear? Maybe Harry will loan you something.”

“Very funny.” Nick presses his lips to the curve of Louis’s shoulder blade. “Do you fancy coming along?”

“Now that’s a good joke.” Louis turns onto his side to look at Nick, looking for Nick’s tell-tale sneaky smile. But he isn’t smiling, only watching Louis curiously. This close, Louis can count the freckles Nick tries so hard to hide, the ones Louis secretly loves. “What would I do at some fancy party?”

“Eat tiny appetizers and drink pretty cocktails?” Nick suggests. “Talk to me while I DJ?”

“Can you even hear anything over the rubbish you play?” Louis asks. Nick pinches him. “Ouch!”

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Nick says. “I’ll be DJ-ing the second hour, but after that we can hobnob and gossip about people’s outfits. Get drunk, shag in the toilets, scandalise the locals.” 

Louis sighs and reaches out to play with Nick’s necklaces in lieu of meeting his eyes. “I don’t have anything to wear.”

“It’s not that posh, I promise,” Nick says, which, that’s not exactly what Louis meant. “You’ll look gorgeous no matter what.”

“I might be late because of work,” Louis says. 

“You should get a different job.” Nick drags Louis in close, sliding his hand down to cup Louis’s bum. Louis shivers as Nick presses his fingers in where Louis is still slick and open. “But as long as you show up, I don’t care.”

“Sweet talker.” Louis hooks his thigh over Nick’s hip to give him more space. “All right, then.”

At that, Nick finally smiles. “It’ll be fab,” he promises. “Now, I think I can give you one more good shag before we ought to seek out food of some sort.”

“Food is overrated,” Louis says, and he pushes Nick onto his back. “Grab a condom.”

Louis’s thighs have never gotten as good a workout as he’s gotten from sleeping with Nick. He doesn’t usually like being on top, but he does like the way Nick’s mouth falls open when he is, the way his gaze goes distant. Louis links his hands with Nick’s and pushes his arms above his head, grinning when Nick’s eyelids flutter. 

“You’re a real tease, you know that?” Nick chokes out. Louis grinds back on his dick. Nick moans, hands tightening on Louis’s. 

“Ha,” Louis says with satisfaction. “I win.”

“Isn’t a competition,” Nick protests. Louis disagrees entirely, but as he just managed to find precisely the right angle, he’s disinclined to start an argument now. 

Still. He wins. 

 

Nick’s alarm goes off at its usual appallingly early hour. Louis groans and drags his head out from underneath his pillow, feeling a bit like he’s been dragged over a bed of nails. Nick flails his arm out, hits snooze, and rolls over with an annoyed groan. Louis scowls down at him, then gets up and goes to take a shower before he has to hop on home. This whole commuting-for-sex business is rubbish. 

Louis steals one of Nick’s jumpers after he gets out of the bathroom and hurriedly shoves his feet into his shoes. Pig looks up from her bed as he pads past her into the kitchen, and after a moment of agonized consideration, Louis decides he’ll do Nick the favour of taking her out for her wee now. 

“Come on, Pig,” he says, gesturing, and she hops up to follow him outside. 

It’s cold enough to freeze his balls off outside, and Louis hops from foot to foot as Pig runs out to have a wee in Nick’s garden before streaking back inside. Louis can’t blame her in the slightest. He steps back inside, rubbing at his arms and sees that Pig has gone running for Nick’s room. Predictably, a moment later, Nick’s agonized shout echoes from the bedroom. 

“Louis!” he calls. “Get her off me!”

Louis grins and goes to stand in the doorway as Pig curls up on Nick’s arm, looking incredibly smug. Nick glares at Louis from beneath his gone-fluffy hair and Pig’s tail. “She just wants to be near you,” Louis says. 

“She’s bloody freezing,” Nick whinges. “Ugh, Pig, let me up.”

Pig licks his hand. Louis would applaud if he didn’t think Nick would kill him for it. “I think she’s telling you it’s time to get up.”

“Stupid time of morning to be awake,” Nick says. He shoves his dog off him and sits up. His hair is everywhere—it’s always so weird-looking in the morning—and Louis can see that he’s left what promises to be a fairly impressive mark on Nick’s shoulder. Safely out of view of any nosy co-workers, of course, but Louis is glad to have it there. He wants Nick to carry Louis around with him. 

“What?” Nick asks, frowning at him. “Why’re you smiling like that?”

Louis opens his mouth to say he isn’t, then realizes he is. Smiling like a proper besotted idiot, which is bad enough, but Nick has seen it now. “Laughing at you,” he lies. “You look like you’ve been through a hedge.”

Nick huffs with irritation and gets out of bed. Louis looks away so he doesn’t get inconveniently distracted by Nick’s mostly-naked body, and pretends he’s sorting through his transit pass and keys. Nick passes by him in the doorway, leaning down to catch Louis’s mouth in a quick kiss, and Louis, who would normally hate the taste of morning breath, finds himself turning into it. Fuck, he’s proper gone, isn’t he? He thought maybe—but no, of course he is. What a fucking idiot he is. Nick’s not exactly one for long-term, is he, and they haven’t actually defined anything. Of course he went and fell for him. 

Nick’s shower clicks on. Louis sits on the end of Nick’s bed and smiles as Pig scrambles down towards him. He scratches her head. “What is your dad thinking?” he asks. “Do you know?”

Pig noses against Louis’s thigh and then rests her head on his hip. She looks about as sleepy as Louis feels. 

“Yeah,” Louis says. “I don’t know either. Fuck.” He sits there for a while until he hears the shower turn off, and then he gets up to say goodbye to Nick before he returns home.

 

On Saturday, Louis arrives at the bar a little after half nine, gives his name to the bouncer, and is allowed in ahead of the line, which makes him feel rather special right until he looks around and realizes how horribly out of place he is. He’s wearing skinny jeans and a ratty t-shirt, which looks good, in his humble opinion, but in comparison with the high fashion, beautiful celebrities filling the bar, he’s basically rough trade. Nick is already at the turntables, so Louis gets a drink, puts it on Nick’s tab, and goes to bother him. 

“Hey!” Nick says extremely loudly when he sees Louis. He takes off his headphones and drags Louis in for a one-armed hug. “Thought you’d never get here.”

“Hi,” Louis says, then jumps when Nick gropes his bum. Nick’s proper obsessed with his bum. “Aren’t you working?”

“Another two minutes left on this track,” Nick says dismissively. He beams at Louis, bright and a little wonky. A girl in a bright blue dress comes over and drapes herself over Nick’s shoulders. He grins back at her and yells, “You look chippy!”

“Chippy like a biscuit!” she yells back. “Who’s this?”

“A friend,” Nick says. He pushes at Louis. “You should go dance. I’ll be off in half an hour.”

Louis pats Nick’s dick, laughs at the expression on his face, and goes to dance. It isn’t quite his crowd, but everyone’s loose and giddy from the alcohol, and it isn’t hard to find people who are willing to be his partner. Anticipation and drink coursing through his veins, Louis lets himself be wrapped up into the arms of a tall, burly guy, though he turns his head when the guy tries to kiss him. He’s hard already from Nick, and it’s been ages since he’s been able to let go like this. 

He changes partners, ignoring their attempts at small talk. Every now and then he catches a glimpse of Nick up at the DJ booth. Nick never seems to notice him in return, too absorbed in his work, or perhaps in the other friends who flit in and out of his booth. It’s all right; Louis’s got more than enough to entertain him.

Louis gets a second, and a third drink before Nick’s set ends, revelling in the opportunity to indulge himself as he so rarely does these days. He’s nursing a fourth when Nick finally comes off, sweaty and gorgeous in the bar lights. People flock to him like moths to a flame. Louis can’t blame them. Nick is magnetic, magnificent, magical. Louis is helpless in his orbit. 

Louis leans against the bar and watches as Nick talks with his friends, all of them seeming to be fashionable, gorgeous women. He’s lit up and beaming, gesturing wild, and the reminder of Nick’s promise— _get drunk, shag in the toilets, scandalise the locals_ —gets Louis up and on his way. Nick had better keep his promise. 

Nick is full-flow when Louis approaches, talking brightly about something that’d happened earlier that day. “—and I said, _no_ , that isn’t going to be the way to end it, yeah?” Louis pauses a little outside the group, watching, and feels a strange sense of sudden isolation, as though he’s watching this on telly from his home. Like he could blink and he’ll be back in Doncaster on his mum’s sofa listening to Nick on the radio and never having met him. Never having had any of the brief glimpses of what life is like when you don’t fuck up. When it could all just be a dream, where it belongs. 

Nick sees him then and waves him over enthusiastically. Louis goes, as though reeled in by a fishing line, passing through the crowd of Nick’s friends. Nick’s arm goes around his waist, hand just resting at Louis’s hip, and he turns to murmur in Louis’s arm, “Enjoying yourself?”

“Music’s a bit shit,” Louis says. Nick laughs, warm and rumbly against Louis’s shoulder. “Sorry to interrupt your gossiping about rich twats or what.”

“Hey,” Nick says. 

“What, like I’m wrong?” Louis asks. He knows he’s being a bit of a dick, but he can’t quite help himself. He’s in charity shop jeans and everyone around him is in Gucci. They probably don’t even know what a normal jug of milk costs. They probably all drink almond milk and talk about juicing. “Bet none of you have paid for your own drink or clothes in ten years at least.”

“Are you going to introduce us, Grimmy?” one of Nick’s friends asks, drawing both of their attention. It takes Louis a moment to place her as Pixie Geldof, daughter of Bob bloody Geldof, as if Louis needed a reminder of just how high the circles Nick moves in are. 

“Oh—this is my friend Louis,” Nick says. Louis’s stomach drops at the repeat of the word _friend_ , not that he has any right to complain. It’s the truth, isn’t it? But it makes him sick to be dismissed like that. Nick turns back to look at Pixie. “Pix, you’ve _got_ to tell me what happened at Krystal’s the other night.”

Pixie picks up her story. Nick doesn’t let go of Louis, his hand still huge and hot on Louis’s hip. Nick’s friends are watching them, exchanging knowing looks and whispered gossip. Louis’s cheeks are hot from the scrutiny, and a bit from the alcohol. His stomach is starting to rebel at how much he’s had to drink. He doesn’t like Nick’s posh friends evaluating him like that, looking at him and wondering what Nick means by _friend._ Wondering who he is, and probably thinking that Nick can do better. 

Louis steps out of the circle of Nick’s arm and drains the rest of his cocktail in one gulp. “Not to interrupt this _lovely_ little conversation about people I don’t know,” he says loudly, making them all turn to look at him, “but I’ve got to go to the loo.” Nick gives him a curious glance, but lets him go. He pushes his way through the crowd and into the men’s toilets. He ignores the urinals and ducks into a stall, dropping to the pristine, first-class tile floor, and empties the meagre contents of his stomach into the toilet bowl. 

It dawns on him then just how out of his depth he is. He should have known better than to come to something like this. He isn’t posh or fashionable or any of that bollocks. He stands out like a sore thumb and everyone around Nick knows it. And he’s just a friend, anyway. Apparently.

The door creaks open and Nick’s voice calls out, “Louis? You in here?”

“Fuck off,” Louis says. He grabs some toilet paper and wipes at his mouth hurriedly before flushing the toilet. 

“Ooh, feisty.” Nick raps at the stall door. “Gonna let me in?”

Louis unlocks the door and lets Nick come in. “What do you want?”

“Thought you were giving me a signal back there,” Nick says, crowding Louis up against the stall. He tries to duck in for a kiss, but Louis turns his head away. “Not a signal?”

“I told you to fuck off,” Louis says, shoving him off. There’s a headache building behind his eyes; he wants to go home now, get himself some water and sleep. “What part of that didn’t you get?

“Who pissed in your cereal?” Nick asks, raising his eyebrows. He’s still _joking_ , the idiot. Can’t he see Louis wants to be left alone? “You weren’t this eggy when you walked into the club.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Louis says. “Could be any number of things. Could be because I just vommed up everything in my stomach.”

“Oh.” Nick’s gaze softens. “Feeling ill?”

“Not just from that,” Louis says. He slips out of the stall and goes to rinse his mouth out. There’s even fancy mouthwash by the mirror. He hasn’t been to a place this nice since his eighteenth birthday when his mum splurged on a fancy dinner. 

“You’re being weird, love,” Nick says, following him out and hovering at his shoulder. “What’s bothering you?” 

God, he’s so unbelievably thick sometimes. Louis slams his hands against the edge of the sink and turns around. “A friend? Really?" Louis demands. He crosses his arms and shoves his hands against his ribs to disguise their trembling. "Is that what I bloody am? Not going to tell your friends what we are?"

“What was I supposed to say?” Nick asks, hackles going up. He steps back from Louis, cheeks going pink. “‘This is my old intern who I’m shagging now?’”

“I don’t know, maybe, or maybe—something else,” Louis snaps. 

"Well, what are we?" Nick retorts. "Everything with you is one step forward, five steps back it seems. We shag, you disappear. I invite you out, you’re rude to my friends. Don’t think I didn’t notice that you were _trying_ to be rude."

"I'm sorry I'm not the perfect fucktoy you masturbated to when I worked for you," Louis snarls, flushing at being caught out. "I'm sorry I'm not what you imagined, but that's tough luck. This is what you get when you slum it, all right? Me, not some brainless arm candy you can trot out at parties."

Nick's face is growing steadily redder. "Why are you being such a brat? I brought you out because I wanted you to meet my friends properly and instead you’re being completely unbearable."

"I don't belong, Nick!" Louis explodes. "I'm not one of your fashionable socialites or pop stars! All you talk about is people I've never met and places I've never been.”

"Because you never try to join in!" Nick runs a hand through his hair and throws his arms up. "Half the time I can't even tell if you actually like me or if you're making it up for some reason. It's not like you've ever invited me round the pub with your friends. Pardon me for taking that as some kind of sign. I guess I should just stop making the effort, then? Since you clearly couldn't give less of a fuck about me?"

It isn't true. It very much isn't true, but Louis is still stinging from the brat comment, and hating knowing that it's true. "If I'm so fucking unbearable, maybe we should just end it," he says. "Quit while we're ahead. How about that?”

“Maybe we should,” Nick says. “If you’re going to be like this when I _try_.”

“If this is you trying, I don’t think it’s worth the effort,” Louis snaps, and he marches out of the toilet in a huff. He orders another drink on his way out, just to take the edge off, and throws caution to the winds by flagging down a cab. He’ll worry about the cost later. 

Liam isn’t in when Louis gets home, which is annoying as Louis had rather been looking forward to complaining to him about his night. There isn’t a note, so maybe he’d just been held up at the studio or with his mystery boyfriend—Liam is usually pretty good about letting Louis when he won’t be home, something Louis himself is utter crap at. Louis kicks off his shoes at the door, takes a beer out from the fridge, and heads into his room to collapse on his unmade bed. What a fucking waste of a night. Suffered through pretentious twats and didn’t even get a shag out of it. 

The last thing he probably needs is more alcohol, but he finishes the beer anyway. 

 

Liam is there when Louis wakes up the next morning and stumbles to the toilet to heave up the bilious remains of his overindulgence. Liam comes in with a glass of water and sits on the edge of the bathtub until Louis is done. He pats Louis’s back gently and offers the water along with a paracetamol. 

“Thanks,” Louis says raspily once he’s drained all the water. “Where were you last night?”

“Out,” Liam says. “Like you, apparently. I’m surprised you’re home already, I thought you were staying the night at Nick’s.”

At the mention of Nick, Louis’s stomach heaves again. “Yeah, well, I didn’t. Obviously.” He tries to get to his feet, but as the blood rushes to his head, his vision goes spotty and he has to sit down again. “Fuck.”

“Did something happen?” Liam asks. He strokes Louis’s hair back from his forehead, like his mum would, and frowns at him. “Did you have a row?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Louis says, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Liam’s knee. “I hope everything is going better with your—with whoever it is you’re seeing.”

Liam is silent for a while before saying, “It’s all right, I guess.” He’s lying. Probably doesn’t want to make Louis feel more shit by talking about how over the moon happy he is. “But don’t change the subject. We’re talking about you.”

“Don’t want to,” Louis says. “It was all pointless, Liam, you know it was. What was he going to do with someone like me, really? Better we end it before anyone gets hurt.”

“Is this before?” Liam asks. He pets Louis’s hair for a bit, then pushes him off. “Your phone went off earlier. You left it on the sofa.”

Louis looks piteously up at Liam until he sighs and says, “And I guess I’ll fetch it for you. Hold on.”

A minute, Liam returns and drops Louis’s phone into his lap. There’s only one notification on the lock screen: a text from Nick. 

_I’m sorry about last night. We should talk xx_

That’s it. No emojis, no follow-up. Nothing like the usual effusive texts Louis gets from Nick. Louis opens the messages to reply, because they _should_ talk, he knows that. But as he stares at the message, he can’t think of anything to say. The taste of his embarrassment is still fresh—or rather, stale—on his tongue. He can’t talk to Nick right now. He can’t think straight around him. 

Louis drags himself up and back to his room. He tosses it onto the bedside table and lies down with a soft groan. He needs some time to set his head on straight. Time without Nick, so he can decide what, exactly, he’s going to do about him. God, his chest hurts, right beneath the ribs. He presses his hands to the spot and breathes in unsteadily. 

 

For the next two weeks, Louis doesn’t answer any of Nick’s texts or calls. He keeps trying to; he’ll open one of Nick’s _Hello???_ texts, hover over the keyboard, and then close it again, not knowing what to say. Not knowing how to make himself understood. 

He picks up more shifts at his jobs instead, saving up money as best he can. That’s the goal, isn’t it, keep working shit jobs until he can magically move up the ladder. That’s the story people tell him. 

Eventually, Nick stops texting. Louis doesn’t let himself feel sorry about it. 

 

It’s easing into April when Louis gets a call while he’s working at the coffee shop. He doesn’t recognize the number, so he lets it go to voicemail and nearly forgets about it until he’s heading home after his shift and sees the notification waiting for him. He pulls it up while he’s waiting for his bus and has to cover his other ear to hear the message. Some kids are playing music at earsplitting volume.

“Hi, my name is Sarah Billings and I work at BBC Radio 1,” says the cultured RP voice on the other end. “I’m calling about your job application to work on Clara Amfo’s show. We would like to schedule an interview at your earliest convenience.” She gives her number and finishes off with, “Looking forward to hearing from you!”

Louis lowers his phone and stares at it in blank incomprehension. He’s sure he would remember sending in a job application, just as he’s sure he didn’t do it. He hasn’t even looked at job openings at the BBC to avoid pointless imaginings of what could be. 

But there is one person who could have. 

He doesn’t want to ask. He has to ask. He opens his texts, stares at the last thing Nick sent him— _Louis I’d really like to chat_ —and taps to start a new message.

 _Do u know anything about bbc calling me for an interview,_ he writes. He hesitates, then hits send before he can regret it. 

He’s nearly back at his flat when Nick texts back a simple _yes._ Louis grips his phone so tight his knuckles go white and goes through every single curse word he knows in his head. Then he gets off the bus and hails a cab. 

Nick opens up when Louis pounds on his buzzer, looking sheepish and ruffled. He’s wearing his glasses and keeping Pig from running out the door with one bare foot. “So that’s what it takes to get you to come round,” he says. His voice sounds strained with the attempt at lightness. Louis rolls his eyes and shoulders his way inside before turning around to glare at him. 

“What did you do?” Louis asks warily. He crosses his arms and attempts to look intimidating. “Did you do something at the BBC? Put in my name or something?”

“No kiss hello or a ‘how have you been’?” Nick shuts the door and leans back against it. He looks casual, but there’s a tightness about his shoulders that tells Louis he’s as uncomfortable as he is. “After you stop calling me for two weeks?”

“Would you shut up and answer the fucking question?” Louis snaps. “What did you do?”

"I found your old application," Nick says, lifting his chin and crossing his own arms. "From when you worked on my show. I tidied it up a bit, sent it in. You wouldn't have done it."

"No," Louis says. "I wouldn't have. And you shouldn't have. I can't believe—what made you think you had the right?"

“I dunno, I thought you might be _grateful_. If you got called in, it proves you got a chance, right?” Nick pushes himself upright, jaw set. “I didn’t think there was any harm.”

"You had no right," Louis says sharply. "You're not even my boyfriend, as you've made abundantly clear."

“Excuse me? You’re the one who keeps _disappearing_.” Nick comes closer as Pig streaks away and into the bedroom. “Every time things get remotely difficult, you run away.”

“You don’t know anything,” Louis snaps. “My life isn’t easy like yours, all right? I’ve not got your money and connections.”

"God, when will you ever take a chance on something?" Nick demands. "You're not stupid, and you aren't useless, no matter what you seem to have convinced yourself."

"I’m a fuck up!” Louis shouts. “I’m not whatever bollocks you made up about me in your head. I’m not this—this bloody dream you’ve had since I was eighteen, I’m a real fucking person, I’m not yours to save or fix or live through. I’m a fuck up and you can’t _fix_ me.” 

“I just want you to be happy!” Nick shouts back. “Is that so bad?”

“And you know so fucking much?” Louis says. “How would you even know the first thing about making me happy? Everything we do together is _your_ thing, haven’t you noticed that?”

Nick goes white. “Louis—”

“You’ve been spending all this time trying to convince me to be better, telling me I’m better than what I think I am. Well, what’s wrong with me the way I am?” Louis demands. “Am I not good enough like this?”

“What?” Nick asks, eyes widening. “No, that isn’t what I’m saying—”

“Everyone keeps telling me, do this, do that,” Louis says, voice cracking humiliatingly, “like I can’t decide for myself. Like I’m not good enough the way I am. I know I’m a failure, but I don’t need bloody everyone telling me that. You made me feel, sometimes, like I was fucking worth something. But it turns out you think it too.”

“You aren’t a failure,” Nick says, reaching out. Louis moves away from him, pressing his hand to his sternum, where his chest is aching. “Louis, please, I was just trying to help.”

“I’m leaving,” Louis says. “Don’t fucking try to help me ever again.” He pushes past Nick to the door, arms wrapped around himself. 

“Louis, I’m sorry,” Nick says, voice cracking. “Please don’t go.”

Louis doesn’t look back. If he does, he’s afraid he’ll break. 

 

Louis spends most of the next few days either drunk or hungover. 

It isn’t the most mature response to his situation, but he feels it’s warranted. It’s almost like a break-up, after all. Not that there was anything real to break-up. It’s thoughts like that which make Louis want to pick up the bottle. 

He comes home after a night at the bar with his bookstore co-workers to find an empty and dark flat. There’s a note from Liam on the kitchen counter reading, _Out w/ “secret boyfriend”! ☺ See you l8er!_ Louis sweeps it aside and digs out a glass and their finest bottle of cheap whisky. No reason the night has to end.

He’s halfway through the remainder of the bottle when his phone buzzes, reminding him that it’s time for his Skype call with his mum. He really doesn’t feel up to it—even without the whisky in his hand she would know there was something wrong—but he’s never missed a call, and that would be more of a dead giveaway than anything else. 

“Oh, Louis, what’s the matter?” is the first thing his mum says to him when the call loads, which only confirms Louis’s feeling that he should have cancelled. “You look awful.”

“Thanks, Mum, I really appreciate that,” he says. He glances over at the whisky and decides not to pick it up while she can see. “You, on the other hand, look stunning. Wedding planning agrees with you.”

“It does, I think,” she says. “It’s exhausting, of course, but it’s going to be wonderful. I can’t wait for you to come. Have you decided if you’re bringing anyone yet? Liam’s already RSVP-ed for two.”

“He has?” Louis frowns. “Maybe his secret boyfriend won’t be so secret, then.”

“Secret boyfriend?” His mum raises her eyebrows with a smile. “That sounds interesting.”

“Not really.” Louis drops his head into his hands. “Mum, what would you say to me moving home after the wedding? Helping the babies and the girls so you and Daniel can have some newlywed time?” He makes a face. “And I’ll pretend that just means doing pottery and gardening.”

“We’ve got twins, love, I know you know where babies come from.” She laughs when he groans in dismay. “And don’t be silly, we’re fine, really. Lottie and Fizzy are more than capable of looking after the others, and you’ve got plenty to keep you down in London.”

“Not really,” Louis says. "Don't you want me to come home?"

"Oh love," his mum says. "Of course I do. I'd love for you to be home. But only if that's the right thing for you to do. I don't want you to come home because you're running away from something." Here, she gives him a penetrating look, one that never failed to get him to confess to his childhood sins. 

“It’s nothing that important,” he says. “Honestly.”

“Louis, really.” His mum sighs. “I can tell all the way from here that there’s something wrong.”

He opens his mouth to insist it’s nothing, but finds, abruptly, that he doesn’t have it in him to lie. “God, Mum,” he says, and he’s embarrassed to hear it come out as a near sob. 

The story comes out in fits and starts. Not all of it, but the salient points: meeting Nick again, their renewed friendship—though he leaves out the sex—the job interview offer, the revelation of who sent in his application. He's sure his mum sees through his omissions, but she doesn't force him to explain more. He's grateful for that. 

“I don’t know what to do,” Louis admits when he finishes. “I never wanted—I can’t have that taken away from me, Mum, I’m barely holding it together. If I go in and they say no—”

“Then you’re the same person you were before,” his mum says firmly. “You’re still my bright, funny, brilliant son. Being rejected from one job won’t change that.”

“It’s all I’ve ever wanted,” Louis says quietly. “I loved working at Radio 1. If they tell me no now, I don’t think I could stand it.”

“You’ll apply again,” his mum says. “Louis, one failed job interview wouldn’t be the end of the world. And you’ll never know if you don’t even try.”

Louis swallows hard and gives into the desire for another mouthful of whisky. When he sets the bottle down, his mum has tears in her eyes, and Louis feels like complete shit. “Mum—”

“Promise me you’ll at least try,” she says. “You can’t give up, Louis. You can’t. The worst that can happen is you won’t get the job.”

She doesn’t understand. That rejection—he’s been afraid of it forever. Afraid that everything he wants, everything he’s worked for, will be beyond him. He can’t go in as he is, imperfect and failed and fucked-up. But he’ll do anything to keep his mum from crying, so he nods and says, “I will. I’ll call her back.”

“Do it now,” she says. “While I’m watching, or else you won’t.”

She knows him too well. Louis sighs and picks up his phone. 

It goes through to voicemail, of course; it’s well past work hours. Louis swallows, puts on his best, most professional voice and says, “Hi, this is Louis Tomlinson calling for Sarah Billings. I only just got your message and would like to schedule an interview.” He leaves his number and the times she can call him, then hangs up and looks at his mum. 

“I’m proud of you,” she says quietly. “Good luck.”

Louis’s eyes prick hotly, and he presses his palms to them, trying to force the tears away. “Thank you,” he says. “I love you, Mum.”

“Love you.” She kisses her fingers and presses them to the webcam for a moment. “I’ll talk to you next week, all right?”

Louis nods and says goodbye. As soon as his mum hangs up, he puts his computer aside, and picks up the bottle of whisky again. 

“Bottoms up,” he says to his room, and he tilts his head back to drink. 

 

He had half-hoped that the BBC had somehow filled the vacancy already, but Sarah Billings calls back the next day while he’s on his lunch break at the bookshop. Louis is tempted to ignore it again, but his promise to his mum is weighing heavily on him. He answers, ducking out into the bathroom, and by the time he emerges, he’s arranged an interview for the next Tuesday morning. 

He feels like he’s going to be sick. 

Louis spends most of the weekend in an anxious spiral, imagining every possible way the interview could go wrong while pretending he’s fine. He goes out with Liam and Niall, he drinks a huge amount of lager, he watches footie with a lad from the coffee shop and tells himself it doesn’t matter. His mum is right, she _is_ , the worst that can happen is they say no. And that isn’t so bad. 

He nearly has himself convinced that it’ll be fine by the time Tuesday comes around, but when he wakes up to go to his interview, he has to sit down heavily on the sofa as he’s putting on his button-down shirt. Liam, who’s eating cereal like a proper good boy, looks up. 

“You all right?” he asks. “You look a bit pale.”

“I’m not ready,” Louis says. “God, Liam. What am I doing?”

“I don’t know,” Liam says amiably. “What are you doing? You’re dressed up.”

“Job interview,” Louis says shortly. His breathing is coming faster now; he can’t feel his fingers. “At the Beeb, oh god, Liam.”

“Lou?” Liam gets up and comes to crouch in front of him. “Louis, stop, you’re freaking out.” 

Louis clenches his hands into fists, trying to force feeling back into his hands. There’s something sitting on his chest, there must be, because he feels weighed down. “Liam, I can’t do this.”

“Louis,” Liam says firmly. He takes Louis’s hands in his. “Look at me. _Look_.”

Louis does. Liam’s friendly brows are creasing in concern, and he’s wide-eyed, like he’s frightened. Liam nods slowly and says, “Breathe with me.” He exaggerates his breathing loudly until Louis joins him, sucking in and letting out each of lungful of air. Slowly, his heartbeat starts to slow, and his vision brightens. Liam is still holding onto him tightly, but Louis doesn’t pull away. It feels nicely grounding. He could use that right now.

“You have an interview at the BBC?” Liam asks gently, squeezing Louis’s fingers. “You didn’t tell me.”

“It’s no big deal,” Louis croaks. “I won’t get it, anyway.”

Liam shushes him. “Louis, you’re going to go in there and smash it. And when you come back, I’ll take you out for a drink and you can tell me all about it.” He bites his lip, looking a bit guilty. “I feel like I haven’t been around much lately. I’m sorry about that.”

“You don’t have to be here,” Louis says. “You’ve got your own stuff or whatever.”

“Still.” Liam pulls Louis into a hug. “You’ll be great. Go blow them away.”

Louis clings to Liam for a big longer than he might usually before forcing himself to let go. “Thanks,” he says, not meeting his eyes. “I’ll—thanks.”

He’s shaking the entire trip to the BBC, nearly dropping his transit pass about five times along the way. Nick’s show is on when he arrives, and he flinches at the sound of Nick’s voice blaring out, “And that’s Years & Years with _Shine_ , and it’s time for the news with Tina Daheley.” 

“Hi,” Louis says to the woman at the reception desk. “I’m here for an interview with Sarah Billings? My name is Louis Tomlinson.”

“Fifth floor,” she says. “I’ll ring her to say you’re coming.”

Nick’s stupid show is playing in the lift too, and but fortunately the fifth floor is blissfully silent when Louis steps out. He loiters at the empty reception desk, unsure of where to go next. He’s been waiting about minute when a tall woman in a crisp white shirt and a grey skirt appears, her heels clicking on the floor. 

“Are you Louis Tomlinson?” she asks. When he nods, she holds out her hand with a smile. “I’m Sarah. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Why don’t you come back to my office?”

After all of Louis’s concerns, the interview is strangely relaxing. Sarah is warm and personable, and he finds himself cheerfully relating to her some of the more family-friendly stories from when he worked on Nick’s show. 

“Yes, Grimmy and his night show producers gave you an excellent review,” Sarah says, startling Louis into near silence. “If you don’t mind my asking, what cause you to leave?”

“My mum got divorced,” Louis says after a moment. “I have six little siblings—four at the time—so I went home to help. And things kind of got off track after that, I guess.”

“That’s very good of you,” Sarah says. “A lot of young people your age wouldn’t do that.”

“They’re my family,” Louis says blankly. “Of course I did.”

Sarah smiles. “Well, I’m glad you’re back. From everything I see, you’ll be an excellent fit. Did you like working at Radio 1?”

“Loved it,” Louis says honestly. “It was the best time of my life.”

Sarah nods and stands up. After a confused moment, Louis does too. He shakes her hand as she says, “It was very nice meeting you, Louis. We’ll be doing a second round of interviews in a week or so. I’ll call you. Same time okay?”

Second interview? Louis manages to say, “Yes,” and then, “Thank you,” and “Pleasure meeting you too.” Somehow he excuses himself without making a complete idiot of himself and makes his way out of the building on wobbly legs. _Second interview_. 

 

Liam whoops loudly when Louis gives him the news and tackles him into the sofa. “I told you!” he yells. “I told you that you’d be brilliant.” He squeezes Louis around the shoulders. “Come to the restaurant, sit at the bar. Tim isn’t working tonight, we can talk and everything.”

“The restaurant?” Louis makes a face. “Really?”

“I’ll buy your drinks,” Liam says. “Celebration. Plus, Tim owes you.”

“Damn straight,” Louis says. “All right, let’s go.”

It’s always a bit surreal to return to a job he’s left, but despite how things ended, Louis does have some fond memories of the restaurant. He says hello to the hostess and Ellie even comes out of the kitchens to give him a hug and a plate of risotto, on the house. Louis falls upon it like a starving man and demolishes the entire thing while Liam is busy serving a rowdy group of girls at the end of the bar. 

“Wow,” Liam says when he gets back. “Even for you that’s impressive.”

“Where’s the drink you promised me, then?” Louis asks, reaching over the bar to try to grab at Liam’s nipple. Liam squirms away, laughing. 

“There you are,” he says with satisfaction. “I’ll get you something.” 

“What do you mean?” Louis asks as Liam reaches for a glass. “I’ve been right here.”

“No, you haven’t, not really.” Liam pours a healthy dose of rum into the glass and adds a splash of Coke on top. “You’ve been a bit weird.”

“You’re one to talk,” says Louis. “You’re the one who’s been off with his secret boyfriend.”

“Stop calling him my secret boyfriend,” Liam says, rolling his eyes. He throws a lime into the glass and passes it over. “It’s just complicated, is all.”

“Amen to that.” Louis lifts his drink in salute. “It’s just been rubbish lately, is all. The thing with Nick—well, it wasn’t going to last, was it? It isn’t like he needs me.”

“Needs you?” Liam frowns. “What do you mean by that?”

“Oh, you know.” Louis waves his arm vaguely. “Before, like, I had my family and I took care of them. That’s what I did. Then it was you, because, let’s face it, you were a real sad sack when we first met.” Liam snorts at that but doesn’t contradict him. “And now you’ve all moved on. If they don’t need me, if you doesn’t need me, if Nick doesn’t need me—what’s the point of me at all? Working a rubbish job that I hate and I haven’t even got any better prospects. This radio thing _might_ pan out, but that’s only maybe.”

Liam sighs and reaches out to cover Louis’s hand. “You’re wrong,” he says gently. “Just because I got a boyfriend doesn’t mean I don’t need you. You’re my best mate, Louis.”

“You’ve been doing a bang-up job of showing it,” Louis says meanly. “Haven’t seen you at all these last few months, it seems.”

“I’m not the only one who’s been out,” Liam says, a little sharply. “Maybe you’re just scared you need Nick more than he needs you. Is that what it is?”

“Shut up,” Louis says. “Look, it’s over, all right? Another thing I’ve fucked up and all.”

Liam shakes his head again and picks up a cloth to wipe at the bar. “You’re always so bloody hard on yourself, Lou,” he says. “One bad thing happens and you decide it’s quits.”

“What, so I never stick anything out?” Louis snaps. “That’s just what Nick says. That I run away from things.”

“Well, you do,” Liam says. “Look at your job here. You probably could have worked it out, gone over Tim’s head to talk to the owner. But you took the easy way out. You’ve been doing that, and look, I know you’re scared, but at some point you’ve got to stop, all right? Stop assuming you’re going to fail before you even start.”

Louis lowers his gaze to his glass. He picks up the tiny straw and taps it along the rim of the glass, watching as droplets of soda make their way down the side. “It’s easier that way,” he says. “You don’t have to be disappointed.”

“I guess,” Liam says. “Look, just do me a favour? Don’t give up on this job, all right? You’ve made the second interview, that’s already brilliant. I know it would be hard, working there and all when Nick is there too—but honestly, Louis, if you want the job, you should do everything you can to get it.”

Louis has been trying very hard not to think about just how much he wants the job. An assistant position on Clara Amfo’s show means helping out with the Live Lounge. It means meeting brilliant musicians and hearing them play, and learning to produce live music. It’s what he’s always dreamed of doing, when he wasn’t dreaming of being a Rovers player, and he aches with how badly he wants it. 

“Fine,” Louis says. “But when—if I don’t get it, I expect you to get me fabulously drunk.”

“Deal,” Liam says. “Shake on it?” 

They do. Liam smiles like he’s proud of Louis, and something in Louis’s chest unknots itself, unfurling like a flower in bloom. 

 

Louis’s second interview inexplicably, miraculously goes even better than the first. 

He still has to endure listening to Nick when he enters the building, and he still has to listen to him and Fiona prattling on while he takes the lift up—“Are you less cranky than you were last week?” “What are you talking about, I’m always a ray of sunshine”—but he feels much calmer when he meets Sarah again. This time there’s a youngish woman with curly dark hair with her. It takes Louis a moment to place her, but then he remembers her from Harry and Niall’s Live Lounge. It feels like a lifetime ago.

“You’re Clara’s producer, aren’t you?” he says after he says hello. “I think we may have briefly passed each other once. I’m sorry, I never got your name.”

“Julie, and yes, I am.” Julie shakes his hand with a wide smile. “Weren’t you at Peaseblossom’s Live Lounge?”

“Yes,” Louis says, hoping desperately she doesn’t ask anything more, like why he had been there. Mercifully, she moves on to asking him about his experience, which he can answer without being afraid he’ll accidentally mention that Nick Grimshaw was shagging him regularly up until a couple weeks ago. He relaxes little by little as the conversation goes on, ranging over territory from what his favourite bands are to what instruments he thinks sound best live. 

“Have you met Clara?” Julie asks as the conversation winds down. The clock behind her head says Louis’s been with them nearly an hour, which can’t possibly be right. “I’d like you to meet her before she starts her show.”

“Briefly,” Louis says uncertainly. 

“Well, then, let’s go down and chat with her!” Julie gets to her feet. Louis hopes very much that his reluctance isn’t showing as he rises. If they go down, odds are he’ll see Nick, and Nick will see him, and Louis—he isn’t sure he wants to give Nick the satisfaction, not yet. 

He musters a smile, though, and says, “I’d love to.”

A dreadful Jason Derulo song is playing as they take the stairs down. Nick’s voice comes on over the end saying, “That track is still _mental_ , what do you think, Fifi?”

“Bit weird,” she agrees. “But hang on, you said you’d tell us what made you so eggy last week and you still haven’t said a word. Come on, fess up, did you lose your hair straightener?”

“I’ll have you know this is all natural,” Nick says with a sniff. Louis just barely manages not to snort. 

It’s quieter when they reach the desks. Clara is sitting at one with a cup of tea and scrolling through what looks like Tumblr when they arrive. Julie calls her name, and she looks up with a wide smile. Introductions are made—Clara, thank God, doesn’t seem to recall Louis—and they sit down to chat before Clara looks at the time, says, “Oh, we’ve got to dash, Julie. Lovely meeting you, Louis!” and the two of them scamper off. 

Louis looks to Sarah, who has been quiet since they came downstairs. She’s smiling, a bit like a proud mother, and Louis licks his lips. “Um,” he says. 

“I think they quite like you,” she says. “Don’t tell them I said that. No one else has been taken to meet Clara. Look, we’ll give you an official call later, but I’m fairly sure you’ve got the gig. If you don’t, I promise I’ll find you something else, I think you’ll be a real asset to the BBC.” She shakes Louis’s hand briskly. “Need anything before you head out? Tea? Biscuit?”

“No,” Louis says faintly. There’s a ringing in his ears he’s fairly sure _isn’t_ the music from Nick’s show. “No, I’m fine. Um, thank you.”

“My pleasure. I’ll be in touch.” Sarah gives him another bright smile and walks towards the stairs. Louis sits for a few stunned minutes in Clara’s chair before getting up and slowly drifting to the lift. _Fairly certain_. She’d said that. She’d said she was fairly certain he had the job. 

He manages to wait until he’s in the lift to fist pump. 

 

Louis doesn’t tell Liam until he gets the official call from Sarah the next morning. He listens to the message five times, not caring that he’s standing in the middle of an aisle at the bookshop, and feels as though he might vibrate out of his skin. A job at Radio 1. _Him_. 

He may or may not do a dance in the middle of the romance novels. No one is there to judge but the Greek billionaire and his virgin bride. 

He puts in his notice at both jobs that day, beaming uncontrollably the entire time. It’s probably not the best impression to leave them with, but he’s _done_ with it all, done with smelling like milk from lattes and having papercuts all over his hands. He fairly skips out of the coffee shop on his way home. He probably looks absolutely demented. 

Liam shouts when Louis tells him the news, loud enough that their neighbour pounds on the wall and indistinctly yells for them to shut up. Louis can’t help himself from laughing, nearly hysterical now, and he throws himself into Liam’s arms, trying to clamber up him like a monkey. 

“Drinks,” he announces. “On me. Tonight. Invite Niall. Invite your secret boyfriend. Invite everyone.”

Everyone ends up being Niall, Harry, their tall bassist, Ellie, a friend of Liam’s Louis has met maybe twice named Sophia, and, inexplicably, Ed Sheeran.

“He was at my flat,” Niall says cheerfully as Louis has a moment of childish glee at meeting one of his musical idols. “Hates his own place, does Ed. Bit like Harry in that.”

Harry looks up at the mention of his name and narrows his eyes. “What are you talking about?” he asks. 

“None of your business, mate,” Niall shoots back. He slings an arm around Louis’s shoulder. “I hear we have some celebration to do.”

They sprawl over two tables at the pub, making lots of noise and probably irritating the locals who are just trying to enjoy a quiet pint. Niall and Harry’s bassist—Bressie—has a guitar with him, and after two rounds, they start a singalong, starting with Peaseblossom’s first single and ending with an absolutely godawful rendition of “Hotel California.” Nearly everyone except Niall forgets the words. It’s a disgrace. Louis’s never had such fun in his life. 

There is, he thinks fuzzily, only one thing missing. Nick. Nick should be here. Nick is the reason he has the job in the first place. If he hadn’t been such an utter bastard and sent in Louis’s application without him knowing, Louis never would have gotten the nerve. The bastard. 

“He’s a bastard,” he tells Niall, who nods sagely as though it is something he’s long-suspected. “I should go tell him that to his face.”

“Yeah you should,” Niall agrees. “Punch him in the face!”

“No, not punch him,” Louis says, frowning. “Why would I punch him?”

“I dunno who we’re talking about,” Niall says confidentially. “But if he was rude to you, I’d punch him for you.”

“That’s very sweet of you, Niall Horan,” Louis says. He pats one of Niall’s arms, which _are_ rather impressive. “But you’re much too nice to punch people.”

“Who are we punching?” Harry asks, leaning in to prop his chin on Niall’s shoulder. 

“Not sure,” Niall says.

“Nick Grimshaw,” Louis says. “Only not, because I don’t want to punch him. I just want to tell him he was an utter bastard. And I need to thank him.”

Harry grins. “Seems a bit complicated, that.”

“Oh, yes, I’m dead good at complicated.” Louis pushes at Liam, who’s deep in conversation with Ed Sheeran, then gives up and climbs over him, ignoring Liam’s indignant yelp. “I’m going to go talk to him.”

“Wait, you shouldn’t go alone,” Harry says, trying to climb after him. He slips in Liam’s lap, giggles, rights himself, and falls out of the booth next to Louis. “I’ll come with you. For protection.”

Louis eyes Harry’s skinny legs and long hair doubtfully, but truth be told, Harry is definitely in better shape than Louis himself. “All right,” he says. “But you’re paying for the cab.”

The night is colder than it has any right to be, given that it’s spring. Louis rubs at his arms as they wait for a cab to pull up, and sinks into the backseat gratefully when one arrives. Harry gives the driver Nick’s address without having to look it up, and Louis experiences a stab of envy that takes him completely by surprise. Harry’s just the kind of guy Louis could see Nick with, even if Nick said he didn’t fancy him. 

“He was probably lying,” he tells Harry, who just squints at him in confusion. He probably was. Even Louis fancies Harry a bit. 

Nick doesn’t answer his phone the first two times Louis calls, and they’re pulling up to his building by the time Louis calls him for a third. When he picks up, there’s some muffled banging, a faint bark, and then Nick saying, breathlessly, “What the hell is this?”

“Hiya,” Louis says. “It’s me. Louis.”

“I know that, I saw the caller ID,” Nick says. “What do you want? It’s half ten already, and some of us have to be up early come morning.”

“I got the job,” Louis says. “I got the fucking job, Nick. You’re talking to Clara Amfo’s newest assistant producer.”

“Oh my god!” Nick shouts. Louis winces and pulls the phone away from his ear. “Louis, are you serious? Oh my god, are you fucking serious?”

“Dead serious,” Louis says. He takes a deep breath, hand tightening on his phone. He can see Nick’s flat from where he’s standing on the sidewalk, can see the light in his window. “You’re home, aren’t you? Come outside.”

“What?” Louis sees the curtains on Nick’s window twitch and a dark figure appear in the frame. “What are you doing? It’s freezing out!”

“Let me in, then,” Louis says, and he hangs up before Nick can argue. It feels like an eternity later when Nick comes out of his building, bundled up in a coat and wearing a pair of house slippers like a nan. Louis jog across the street, smiling wider and wider the closer he gets, and as soon as he’s in arm’s reach, Nick drags him in for a tight, nearly painful hug. Louis buries his face in Nick’s neck and blinks his eyes hard to ease their stinging. 

“Hi,” Nick says when they pull back. 

“You’re a bastard,” Louis says, because that’s what he came to say. 

“Hi, Grimmy,” Harry says from behind Louis. “I’ll take Pig out for a walk while you two talk, okay?”

“Thanks, Haz,” Nick says without taking his eyes off Louis. “Appreciate it.”

Harry disappears inside, leaving the two of them alone on the step. Nick had clearly been asleep, or at least in bed; there are pillow creases on his cheek. Louis touches them gently without thinking, and freezes when Nick turns into his hand. 

“Excuse me,” Harry says, squeezing past them, Pig running ahead of him on her lead. “You ought to go inside.”

“Good idea,” Nick says. He reaches up and takes Louis’s hand in his. “This all right?”

Louis nods and allows Nick to lead him in. His flat is still like an oasis of calm, warm and inviting and perfect. Louis takes a moment to breathe in the familiar smell, the same one Nick carries around with him, an indefinably comforting scent. Nick releases his hand and sits down on the sofa, tugging a blanket over and throwing it over his legs. After a careful, considered moment, Louis sits down beside him. Neither of them say anything at first, watching each other instead, waiting to see who’s going to make the first move.

 

“I’m sorry I’ve been such a wanker,” Louis says finally. “I’ve been really, you know. I just—I’m not very good at letting people help me.”

“I’ve noticed,” Nick says dryly, but he’s smiling a little. God, Louis has missed that. 

“Fuck off,” Louis says without heat. "I didn’t like it, you know, having to rely on you. Feeling like I might owe you. And I could have failed. That would have killed me.”

“I know,” Nick says. He covers Louis’s knee with one huge hand. “I understand that now. Didn’t at first, but I talked it over with Aimee and she helped me see. We’ve been kind of rubbish to each other, haven’t we?”

“A bit,” Louis says. “I'm not used to not being needed. And now Liam's got his boyfriend, and my sisters are doing fine, and Mum's getting married next month, and you’re _you_. I always used to have a point, you know? A point for existing. There was a reason people kept me around. I just don’t get why you did."

"I need you," Nick says softly. 

"Not properly," Louis says. "You'd be just fine if I weren't around. You were fine before and you'd be fine again."

Nick is quiet for a moment. "Leaving aside how that is very much not true," he says, "maybe you're right in that I don't need you to help me do my job or live my life. But it's so much better with you, Louis, you have to believe that. I may not need you like you define it, but I want you. I really do.”

"Always knew you were a fucking idiot," Louis says. Nick snorts. “But really, Nick. It’s just not fair, I don’t think.”

“I was proper miserable after we rowed,” Nick says. “I felt so bad about what I’d done and said. I didn’t mean to make you feel worthless, or like you were just my dirty little secret or whatever. I like you quite a lot, Louis. Quite a very lot. I was a bit scared of telling you that, though.”

“Why?” 

Nick’s smile grows a little self-deprecating now. “Thought I’d scare you off if I said that straight away,” he says. “You were already so skittish about it. Didn’t think I should come straight out and tell you I’d quite like to get married and have babies, or whatever the line is.”

Louis snorts and covers his face with his hands. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Am I?” Nick’s hand tightens on his knee. “Why’s that?”

“Because I proper fancy you too,” Louis says. He finally turns to look at Nick straight in the face. “It killed me, you know. I thought I wasn’t good enough.”

“You are,” Nick says fiercely. “You’ve always been good enough. And if I didn’t make you feel that way, I’m shit. I’m utter shit.”

“Only a bit shit,” Louis says. He pushes aside the blanket and tugs Nick closer to him. “Give me a congratulations kiss and we’ll call it even.” 

“Congratulations,” Nick says, voice low and familiar, and he pulls Louis in for a proper kiss. 

At the first touch of Nick’s mouth, Louis feels as though he’s come home. Nick is gentle, but fierce somehow too, possessive, nearly bruising. Louis wraps his hand in Nick’s coat and holds on tight. 

He sighs in annoyance when Nick pulls back, but at least Nick looks just as put out as he does. “I’ve really got to get back to bed, love,” he says. “Got an early show tomorrow, as you know. But—spend the night?”

Louis nods, not trusting himself to speak. Nick pulls him in again, resting his chin on Louis’s head, then gets up and leads Louis by the hand to bed. 

 

As usual, Nick’s hideously early alarm startles Louis awake before the sun is even up. He groans and burrows into Nick’s side. “Turn it _off_ ,” he grumbles. 

“I do have to go into work,” Nick says, voice croaky. He nuzzles Louis’s forehead, then kisses his temple. “And as much as I’d like to, I don’t think we actually have time for a cheeky shag.”

“What about a shower together?” Louis asks. “I’ll get up for that.”

“Mm, I like the way you think.” Nick kisses him—his breath is appalling—and scoots away. “If we put the kettle on now, the tea’ll be ready for you by the time we’re done.”

“Making me tea? Are you grovelling?” Louis sits up. “You never make me tea.”

“Don’t get used to it.” Nick gets out of bed and holds out his hand. “Come on.”

Harry is sacked out on the sofa, one arm dangling over the side. Pig is asleep on his feet, which is bound to be uncomfortable when he finally wakes. Nick snorts, grabs a blanket to cover Harry with, and disappears into the kitchen to start the kettle. Louis spares a moment to feel incomprehensibly fond of Nick, who has friends who seem to appear on his sofa at all hours of the day and always welcomes them without question. 

Louis is washing his hair when Nick joins him in the shower, looking marginally more awake. He’s brushed his teeth, too, as Louis learns when he leans up for a kiss. It’s a bit of an uncomfortable fit with the two of them and Louis’s vague plans for maybe blowing Nick go out the window at the thought of kneeling on the hard ceramic. Instead, he gets a soapy hand on Nick’s cock. 

Nick startles and grabs onto Louis’s hips. “Whoa,” he says, sounding pleased. “Now that’s the kind of wake-up I can get behind.”

Louis hisses when Nick returns the favour, pressing in close to kiss, open-mouthed and sloppy. Nick’s hand is familiar, knowing, and Louis has missed it—missed _him_ —so much that it startles him. He bites at Nick’s mouth, rubs his cheek against Nick’s slight stubble, and sets to leaving a mark on Nick’s jaw. 

The kettle is boiling when they finally emerge. Louis steals some of Nick’s clothes to wear and takes the kettle off the hob to make himself a cup of tea. Harry is still passed out, dead to the world, but Pig is up and running around the kitchen. Louis crouches down, letting her lick his face, and is scratching her ears when Nick joins them, fully-dressed in ripped jeans and a green jumper that makes him look absolutely lovely. Louis ducks his head to hide his face in Pig’s fur. 

“Hey,” Nick says quietly. His hand rests briefly at the back of Louis’s neck. “You all right?”

“Yeah,” Louis says. He sinks to the floor and sits with his back to the kitchen cabinets. “What are we doing, Nick?”

Nick hesitates, then picks up Louis’s tea and joins him on the floor. “I don’t know. What do you want to be doing?”

“I think maybe we could try dating?” Louis suggests. “Is that even allowed if we work together?”

“Well, you aren’t working on my show, so it should be fine.” Nick hands Louis the mug and wraps his arm around Louis’s shoulders. “We’ll have to fill out some kind of form, I think. A bit formal, but it’s the thing to do.”

“I’ll do it,” Louis says to the mug. “I’d quite like to date you, I think.”

“I rather thought we already were,” Nick says. “But I’d be glad to put a name to it.” 

Louis sighs and leans against Nick. “Have we been wasting time?”

“No such thing,” Nick says. “Every bit’s just what you need to get there.”

“Deep.” Louis turns to kiss Nick, grinning when Nick makes a soft noise of protest at the taste of tea. “What if we fuck it up?”

“Can’t see us doing much worse than we have already,” Nick says. “Look, I’ve got to get going. Will you make sure Harry gets out of here all right? And can I call you?”

“Please do,” Louis says. He kisses Nick again, and they get distracted exchanging lazy kisses until Pig jumps in Louis lap and starts trying to drink his tea. Nick breaks away, laughing, and scolds her playfully. From the living room comes a soft grunt and then a thump. 

“Oh, Harry’s awake,” Nick says. He trails his lips along Louis jaw, down to just beneath his ear. “I really should go.”

“That’s rubbish,” Louis says. “I wish I could come with you.”

“Might be a little bit of a scandal if you showed up with me the day after you were hired,” Nick says. “How about I throw you a proper party after your first week of work? We’ll have a little celebration and all.” 

“I’m holding you to that,” Louis warns. He kisses Nick again, then lets him go. “Can I come back over tonight?”

“I’ll be disappointed if you don’t,” Nick says. He drags himself upright and groans as his knees audibly pop. “All right, I really do have to go or Vic will have my head.”

Louis sees him to the door, and they exchange one last, lingering kiss before Nick dashes out, yelling back, “And take Pig out for her wee, please!”

“You’re so romantic!” Louis yells after him. He watches Nick go, then slips back inside to see to Pig. Harry is awake now, sitting up and looking disgustingly cheery. 

“Hi,” Harry says amiably. “Any brekkie on?”

Louis sends Harry home a little after eight and drags himself back to his flat to get ready for work. As tired and a bit hungover as he is, he’s lighter than he has been in weeks, and for once he doesn’t dread arriving at the book store. It’ll be all right; he’s sure of that now. 

He arranges his last shifts so he can start at the BBC as soon as possible; he hugs his co-workers and thanks them, laughing when they congratulate him on escaping; and in the evenings, he goes back to Nick, whose flat is starting to feel more like home than his own. Nick doesn’t comment on how often Louis is there, and Liam has stopped bringing it up, too. 

“You’re different, you know,” Nick says one night. Louis isn’t paying him much attention, too busy filling out a bunch of paperwork for the BBC, but he looks up at that. 

“How do you mean?” he asks. 

Nick waves vaguely around at Louis’s face from where he’s sat on the sofa with Pig. “I mean from before, when you worked for me. I fancied you a bit then, but that’s not why I fancy you now, you know. If that makes sense.”

“I don’t—what?” Louis puts his pen down and frowns at him. “What are you talking about?”

“When we rowed a bit back, you said you couldn’t be whatever it was I’d made up about you in my head five years ago,” Nick says. “That’s the thing. I never could imagine you because you never do what I expect.”

“I’m still not following,” Louis says. “What on earth are you trying to say?”

Nick groans and lies back on the sofa, throwing his arm over his face. “You know, I talk for a living and I can never think of how to say things to you. It’s all too much. All I mean is that when I saw you again in that restaurant, I thought, hey, a second chance to be mates with Louis. I didn’t think I’d fall for you again, but I did. It wasn’t just that I fancied you back then, it’s—you’re so determined and strong, and I saw this whole new side of you that just added to what I already knew, and it drove me mental that you couldn’t see it. Which is a bit rubbish from me, I guess, but all I wanted—all I want—is for you to see yourself the way I see you.”

Louis can’t speak for a moment, his heart in his mouth. “Which is how?” he asks, getting to his feet and coming to kneel by the sofa.

“As someone marvellous and special,” Nick says. “Ugh, I sound so soppy.”

Louis drags Nick’s arm away from his face and smiles down at him. “I suppose you’re all right, too,” he says. 

Nick’s lips quiver like he’s trying not to smile. “Just all right?”

“Maybe a bit better than all right.” Louis leans down and kisses him softly, trailing his hand down Nick’s cheek. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Nick asks. 

“Believing in me.” Louis kisses him again, then yelps as Nick drags Louis up onto the sofa. Pig jumps off with a disgruntled huff and trots off into the bedroom. 

 

Louis’s first week of work on Clara’s show is hectic, chaotic, exhausting, and the most fun he’s had in years. He comes home—or to Nick’s flat—every night ready to crash and overflowing with joy, giddily bothering Liam and Nick with every tiny thing that happened that day. Liam, fortunately, is as interested as Louis is; Nick is a little less amused. 

“I swear I’m going to smother you,” he says into his pillow after Louis has spent twenty minutes talking about the interview they’d had with Ella Henderson. “Go to _sleep_ , Louis.”

“Just because you’re old and jaded doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t still enjoy life,” Louis says, flopping down on the bed next to him. “Nick, I’m a _producer_.”

Nick rolls onto his side and grins at Louis. “Knew you had it in you.”

“Smug bastard.” Louis pinches his side. “You’re just pleased I proved you right.”

“Obviously,” Nick says. “And if you could see how you were smiling right now, you’d be pleased too. Well, more pleased. Thought I’m not sure that’s possible.” He pokes his finger into Louis’s cheek. “Look at that smile.”

“Shut up,” Louis says, cheeks heating. “So I’m happy. What of it?”

“So I’m happy you’re happy,” Nick says. He tugs Louis in close. “My _boyfriend_ is happy.” 

“Your boyfriend _is_ happy,” Louis says. “And he’s looking forward to your fancy party tomorrow.”

“Oh yes, so fancy. You’re going to have to get used to hobnobbing with the rich and famous. This’ll be a good start.” Nick grins when Louis makes a face. “I promise it won’t be all that bad. It might even be fun.”

And true to Nick’s word, it is. They take up the entire back room of a pub in Primrose Hill, talking loud enough to drown out the music. Fiona and Vic are there, and Tina, and Matt and Ian and Aimee, as well as Liam and Niall and Harry. Nick must have had Liam’s help, because Ellie is there, and so are some of his mates from the bookstore and the restaurant. Even Clara and Julie drop by, which is a bit weird, but Louis likes them already, and they assure him that it’s part of Radio 1 culture to get drunk with your team. 

“It’s an unofficial rite of initiation,” says Clara, lifting her vodka coke and clinking it against Louis’s glass. “Too bad the Brits have already passed, because that’s the real test.”

“Straight-through crew!” Nick yells, draping himself over Louis’s shoulders. “That _is_ the ultimate test, innit?”

“If you can survive that, you’ll survive it all,” Clara says wisely. She gives Louis a kiss on the cheek. “Welcome to the family, Louis.”

Louis glances at Nick, who’s beaming like a loon. “Is this like meeting the in-laws, then?” he asks. “Bit soon, isn’t it?”

“Or a bit late, depending on how you look at it.” Nick wraps his arms around Louis’s neck and kisses his cheek. “Why? Getting cold feet?”

“Thinking maybe you should meet your in-laws,” Louis says. He takes Nick’s hands and twists around. “My mum’s getting married next weekend. I never officially told her if I was bringing a plus one.”

“Are you asking me on a _date_?” Nick grins, leaning down to butt against Louis’s head. “To your mum’s wedding? Dead romantic, that is.”

“It’s no big deal,” Louis says. It’s definitely a big deal. From the soft look Nick gives him, he knows that. 

“I’d be honoured,” Nick says quietly. He leans down and kisses Louis, to loud whoops from their friends. Louis glances over at Clara anxiously, but she just grins and winks. Louis flushes, pleased, and ducks his face into Nick’s chest. Nick hugs him, and for a moment Louis lets himself sink into it before he feels self-conscious and has to pull away. 

“Where’s Liam?” he asks Nick. “Haven’t seen him.” 

“Think he’s over there,” Nick says, pointing. Louis turns to look. In the corner, Harry is standing with his back to them, in what Louis recognizes from many a pub-crawl as “pull stance.” He shifts slightly, and Louis gets a look over his shoulder at who he’s talking to: Liam. 

“Oh, fuck,” Louis says. “We need to save him from Harry.”

Except then Liam turns his head up, smirking, and Harry kisses him. Actually _kisses_ him. And Liam just beams at him when he steps back. 

And suddenly, the last few months become clear. Liam saying he can’t talk about his boyfriend. The secrecy. Niall laughing. Harry’s weirdness when they saw each other at the art show. All this time, all this _bloody time_ , Harry fucking Styles has been Liam’s secret boyfriend. Louis can’t believe this. 

Louis realizes he’s staring. A moment later, Nick reaches over and closes his mouth. “You’re letting in flies, love.”

“Did you know about that?” Louis demands, gesturing over at them. “About Liam and Harry?”

“Didn’t you?” Nick asks. He props his chin on top of Louis’s head, which is incredibly annoying, really, except Louis loves him and finds he doesn’t mind as much as he should. “I thought it was dead obvious.”

“You’re a bloody liar,” Louis says. “You had no idea.”

“I did!” Nick insists. Louis digs his elbow into Nick’s side, making him yelp indignantly. “What’s that for?”

“For _lying_ ,” Louis says. “Or for not telling me.”

“I was sworn to secrecy,” Nick says. Louis turns on him, digging his fingers into Nick’s sides until he squirms away. “Ouch, fine! Fine, I didn’t know!”

“Knew it,” Louis says, satisfied. He leans against Nick. “No wonder he’s been so close-mouthed about it.”

“They’re awfully cute, aren’t they?” Nick asks. Harry is currently attempting to eat Liam’s face, or at least that’s what it looks like from where they’re standing. “Almost as cute as us.”

“God forbid we’re ever that bad,” Louis says. He smiles as Nick drops his hand to Louis’s waistband, fingers just teasing underneath. “Are you trying to outdo them?”

“No, I was just thinking,” Nick murmurs, voice getting low and a little growly. Ooh, that’s nice. “We never did get that shag in the toilets.”

“You’re disgusting,” Louis says fondly. “Let’s go.” 

The men’s is empty, fortunately, but Nick locks the door behind them anyway and then pushes Louis into a stall. “There’s no one in here, we could have picked the big one,” Louis points out as Nick unbuttons his jeans. 

“Less fun that way,” Nick says. He smirks, winks, and drops to his knees. Louis bangs his head against the stall as Nick takes out his cock and licks the end of it like he’s a cat or something. 

“Don’t fuck around,” Louis says, fisting one hand in Nick’s hair. “Someone’s gonna try to get in here at some point.”

“Duly noted.” With that, Nick ducks down, taking Louis in deep. Louis gasps, hips arching off the wall until Nick pushes him back down, firm and unyielding. Through the door comes the murmur of voices, and Louis thrills at the idea that they might know where Louis and Nick have disappeared to. Not a secret, not an embarrassment—a fact. 

Louis is making a mess of Nick’s hair. Good. No sense in hiding it away. Neither of them want that, do they, they’ve filed paperwork and everything. Louis’s breaths are coming fast and hard, heat climbing in his stomach, and he chokes out, “Nick—” before he starts to come, tensing all over. Nick sucks him through it, hand still anchoring Louis, and when Louis slumps back, sated, Nick catches him around the waist. 

“Hey, hey,” Nick whispers, kissing at Louis’s hip and stomach. “I got you.” 

Louis bends down to kiss the top of Nick’s head. “I know,” he says. “Let me get you.”

Nick pants into Louis’s mouth as Louis wanks him off, leaving finger-shaped marks on Louis’s waist. Louis can’t truthfully say he minds. He’ll never tire of this, he’s sure of it. There’s such a rush from being the one to reduce Nick to desperation. He wants to be that person now, and forever. It’s a frightening thought, especially when Louis’s spent the last five years trying not to think much on his future. But things are starting to seem brighter now, and maybe it wouldn’t hurt to let himself hope. 

Nick comes over Louis’s hand with a muttered curse and leans forward to crush Louis back against the stall. “We should do that more often,” he says. 

Louis turns his head to bite Nick’s neck. “Slag.”

“You love it.” Nick sticks his nose in Louis’s ear because he’s completely appalling. “Don’t you?”

“I do,” Louis says quietly, and he hopes Nick can read through the lines on that, can hear what Louis isn’t quite ready to say just yet, even if it’s true. From the way Nick beams at him, he thinks Nick understands. 

 

It’s been two weeks of utter chaos and complete happiness. Louis has not quite gotten used to being woken by Nick’s alarm yet, but he has gotten used to coming home to him and seeing him around the BBC building. Some days Louis has to pinch himself when he wakes up, still unable to believe that he, of all people, could be this lucky. 

That Friday, Louis comes into work and heads up to the eighth floor. Clara is talking with Nick as Louis slips into the Live Lounge, peering through the glass at them. “—and are you doing anything fun this weekend?” she asks, grinning. She already knows, the bloody minx. 

“I’m going to a wedding tomorrow, actually,” Nick says. “My friend’s mum’s getting married.”

“A friend, huh?” Clara teases, and Louis grins as Nick glares at her. “Are you sure about that?”

“Yes, tell us more,” Tina chips in. Fiona waves at Louis through the window and winks. 

“You’re ganging up on me, I don’t like this,” Nick says loudly. “I should know better than to let any of you in the same room. Here’s a track to play us out, and then Clara will take over for me. Have a lovely weekend, everyone!” He cuts to a Jess Glynne track and waves Louis inside. 

“Are you pestering my boyfriend?” Louis asks Clara, going to peck Nick on the cheek. “That’s not very sporting.”

“He deserves pestering, calling you a friend,” Clara says. “You’re going to let him get away with that?”

“We’ve discussed it,” Louis says. “Nick’s famous, haven’t you heard? Maybe we aren’t ready for that.”

“Famous,” Fiona snorts. “Yeah, whatever.”

“Hey, I’m _in a film_ ,” Nick says. “I’m a proper movie star now.”

“You gonna take me to the premiere?” Louis asks, kicking his foot against Nick’s. Nick grins up at him, fond and nearly unbearably sweet. “Arm candy and all that?”

“Oh my god, get out of here,” Fiona says, “this is disgusting. Clara, take your producer away.”

“Come on, Tommo,” Clara says. “We’ve got to go get started.”

“See you tonight,” Louis says to Nick. “Remember, we’re starting out early tomorrow.”

“Yes, I remember,” Nick says. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I know,” Louis says cheerfully. He dearly wants to kiss Nick properly, but they’d agreed to keep PDAs to an absolute minimum work. “Wish me luck?”

“Good luck,” Nick says obligingly. Louis hurries to catch up with Clara and does his best to ignore her knowing look. When he glances back over his shoulder, Nick is watching him go, smiling. Louis waggles his fingers and blows him a kiss. 

They still haven’t packed for the wedding, and they haven’t worked out with Liam and Harry when they’re all getting there or if Nick is staying with Louis at the house or in a hotel. Nick woke up at half three the night before asking if he needed to get a gift, and they’d nearly forgotten to arrange someone to look after Pig for the weekend. They’re utter disasters, complete shit at all this, but when Louis thinks about taking Nick home, introducing him to his mum, it’s all worth it. 

“Coming, Louis?” Clara calls. 

“Be right there,” Louis says, and he goes to work smiling. 

 

At the church in Doncaster, Louis has to leave Nick with Liam and Harry to go help his mum get ready. Nick, who had chattered nervously the entire drive, has gone uncharacteristically silent, and he clings to Louis’s hand until Louis gently tugs away. “You’ll be fine,” he tells him. “I have to go. Stay with Harry and Liam.”

“What if your mum hates me?” Nick asks. “What if they throw me out?” He’d joked about that earlier, but there’s a real note of anxiety in his voice now. 

Louis smiles and leans up on his toes to kiss him. “Then I’ll have to break up with you, I’m sorry.”

“ _Louis_ ,” Nick whinges. “Don’t joke with me at a time like this, I’m emotionally delicate.”

“They won’t hate you,” Louis says. “I promise. They couldn’t. Even I can’t hate you and I’ve tried.”

“Not funny.” Nick pouts at him like he’s six and not thirty-odd. “I haven’t done this in ages.”

“They’ll love you as much as I do.” Louis’s face heats as he says it, but Nick relaxes at that, finally smiling. 

“All right,” he says. “If you promise.”

Louis kisses him again and hurries off to join his mum. All his siblings are in with her, the babies on Lottie and Fizzy’s hips. His mum looks absolutely stunning, even without the dress on yet. She’s practically glowing. Louis ducks in and kisses her cheek. 

“Ready?” he asks her. She reaches up to grab his hand and beams at him in the mirror. 

“Now that you’re here, of course I am,” she says. 

The girls shoo him out while they get dressed, so Louis puts on his suit by himself. He’s surprised by how grown-up he looks, almost like an adult. Which he supposes he technically is. He fidgets with his fringe, gives it up for a lost cause, and re-joins his family. Lottie takes over his hair from there, and they’re bickering over how to style it when his mum comes out of her dressing room. 

“Oh, Mum,” Lottie says, dropping her hands. “You look gorgeous.”

Louis can’t speak, his eyes suddenly hot. He is of the completely unbiased opinion that his mum is the most beautiful woman in the world regardless, but like this, resplendent and radiant, her hair pinned up elegantly like some kind of queen, he feels the desire, once again, to protect her. But he doesn’t have to anymore; she’s found someone to love her as she deserves. 

“How do I look, Louis?” his mum asks with a small, nervous smile. 

“Mum,” Louis says helplessly, and he gets up to hug her, carefully not to muss her make-up or dress. She hugs him back just as tightly and kisses the side of his head. 

Louis manages to hold it together when he walks his mum down the aisle, and even when he joins Nick and Liam in the front pew. When his mum says, “I do,” in her strong voice, though, his eyes start leaking. He wipes fiercely at his face until Nick pulls his hand away. Louis tries to hide his face, embarrassed, but Nick just turns his chin up gently and uses his pocket square to dab at Louis’s face. He’d spent hours wanging on about that pocket square. It’s Versace or sommat, he’d said, and it matches Nick’s tie perfectly. And he’s using it to mop up Louis’s face. 

Louis takes Nick’s hand and squeezes it tightly. Nick holds on tight. 

At the reception, Nick and Louis are seated at the same table as Louis’s whole family. Louis’s mum and Daniel can’t stop beaming. They’re nearly sickening, the way they keep kissing and nuzzling each other. Louis would be disgusted if he weren’t so bloody happy. 

Once Nick loosens up, he has the entire table in stitches. Lottie pesters him for stories about Rita Ora, Fizzy has a hundred questions about London, and his mum and Daniel find him utterly charming. Under the table, Nick puts his hand on Louis’s knee, squeezing just this side of too tight until Louis’s mum says, “Louis is lucky to have you,” and Nick lets out a small breath that might possibly be a sigh of relief. 

“Told you,” Louis said out of the side of his mouth. Nick pinches his thigh. 

When his mum and Daniel take to the dancefloor for their first dance, Louis and Nick carry the babies to bed in the church nursery. Nick bounces Doris on his hip, humming tunelessly to her as she grabs sleepily at his tie. He looks good with a baby; must be all that practice with his endless number of godchildren, not to mention his own niece and nephew. 

“What?” Nick asks, catching Louis’s look. 

“Nothing,” Louis says. Ernest is already asleep on Louis’s shoulder, drooling onto his suit jacket. Louis cups his small head and breathes in the sweet, milky smell of baby. He seems so impossibly small, but Louis can remember from when the twins were babies that it’ll be no time at all before he and Doris are walking and talking and causing all sorts of trouble. Louis gently lowers Ernest into the crib and smiles at the church volunteer who’s watching over the babies and toddlers during the ceremony. 

Doris is still awake when Nick puts her down. She blinks slowly up them before sticking her tiny thumb in her tiny mouth and apparently finally drifting off to sleep. Louis leans against Nick for a moment, then takes him by the hand to return to the reception. 

They attempt to dance and do an absolutely horrible job at it. Both of them want to lead and neither of them can remember any ballroom steps at all, so they end up swaying off-tempo until Louis’s mum cuts in and takes Nick away with a cheerful, “Don’t worry, love, I’ll get him back to you in one piece.”

Louis watches them nervously for a minute before going to pester Liam and Harry, who haven’t let go of each other since dancing began. Harry, who’s a bit giddy with champagne, loops his arm around Louis’s waist and says, “Thank you for having me!” before kissing him on the cheek.

“Watch out, I might steal your boyfriend,” Louis tells Liam. He gooses Harry’s bum. Harry doesn’t even flinch. 

“You’re welcome to try,” Liam says. Harry beams smugly at Louis and makes an obscene gesture with his free hand. Liam gasps and smacks his hand down. “There are _children_ here!”

Louis frees himself from them with a laugh and returns to steal his mum away from his boyfriend. Nick doesn’t look any worse for wear, is even smiling, and squeezes Louis’s hand before gracefully excusing himself to give Louis and his mum a moment. 

Her make-up is smudged from when she had cried a bit, and her hair is starting to come loose from its exquisite chignon, but she’s still beautiful. Louis takes her hand and leads her into a half-decent waltz, which admittedly doesn’t go with the music, but is the best he can do. Neither of them say anything for a bit, and then his mum sighs and rests her head on his shoulder. 

“He’s a good lad,” she says quietly. “Bit old for you, if you ask me, but he clearly cares about you. And maybe it means he’ll be ready to settle down.”

“It’s a bit early for that, Mum,” Louis says, even though his chest warms at the idea. “What is this about?”

“I want you to be happy,” she says. “You’re still my baby, even if you’re a grown lad now. I don’t think you need anyone to be happy, I should say, but you do seem happier than you’ve been in a while.” 

“It’s the job,” Louis says. Over his mum’s head, he sees Nick dancing with Daisy standing on his toes. He’s beaming and Daisy is laughing. Of course she is. Nick is awfully good with kids. “That’s all.”

“Of course,” his mum says with a knowing smile. “Go back to your lad.” She releases him and swats him on the shoulder. “I approve.”

Louis’s chest loosens. He hadn’t realized he had been waiting for his mum’s seal of approval, but now that he has it, he realizes he’s been anxious about her not liking Nick, because if she didn’t, he would have no idea what to do. “Thank you,” he says, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “Go dance with your husband, then.”

She laughs at that. Louis leaves her and steals Nick away from his sister without any remorse. Daisy pouts at him, but cheers up considerably when Harry steps up into his place. Nick smiles down at Louis, a hint of nervousness around his eyes. “What were you talking about?”

“You, of course,” Louis says. “I think she wants to adopt you.”

“Yeah?” Nick squeezes Louis’s hand. “So we don’t have to break up after all?”

“I suppose you can stay.” Louis presses in closer to Nick, hiding his face in Nick’s chest. “After all, I love you a bit.”

“Just a bit?” Nick’s other hand is splayed low on Louis’s back, lighting him up inside. “I suppose that’s something.”

“Maybe a little more than a bit,” Louis says. 

“Well, that’s good,” Nick says. “Because I might love you a lot. Which, coming from me, isn’t nothing.” His voice is shaking. Louis remembers Nick saying once, _I don’t seem to have much luck in relationships_. Another time, he’d said, _I can’t seem to find anyone who wants me to stay_. 

And yet here he is, at Louis’s mum’s wedding. 

“I know,” Louis says quietly, lifting his head to meet Nick’s eyes. “Thank you for coming with me this weekend. It means a lot.”

Nick’s expression softens and he smiles lopsidedly. “Of course.” He leans in as if to kiss Louis, then pauses. “Is it all right if I—?”

Louis closes the gap between them in reply.

**Author's Note:**

> I can be found on tumblr and twitter as hkafterdark.


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